


On The Scent

by Namarie



Series: On The Scent [1]
Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Season/Series 03, Transformation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-04-29 14:08:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 45,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5130455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Namarie/pseuds/Namarie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bad luck leads to a Blacklister's selection of Ressler for a radical experimental procedure, which in turn has lasting effects.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write a story where Ressler is the one who undergoes a transformation. This is the result. (Not related to either the “Bloodlines” series or my Soulmate AU.) And yes, I realize this is yet another weird AU for this show. Apparently I can't help myself.

~~  
(Timeline: late season 2, prior to “Leonard Caul”)

“Ressler?”

He heard the voice as if he were on the bottom of a pond. But he wanted to reply, so that meant he had to fight his way to the surface. Finally, he opened his eyes, as she repeated his name. Each eyelid seemed to way a ton.

“Hey. There you are.” Liz was smiling.

Ressler smiled back, and only then noticed he was in a hospital bed. “What--” He blinked slowly. Then it came back to him: the raid on the underground lab, how he had gotten separated from the rest of the team, and then-- then nothing for a while. “What happened?”

“What's the last thing you remember?” his partner asked.

It took him a while to gather his thoughts. “Um. We were going down the hallway in that lab. We split up into three teams. I was with Ritter.” He watched her nod. “Then I went in first, when Ritter and I got to another doorway. It looked like it led to another whole wing of the place that we hadn't known about.” He paused and frowned before admitting, “After that, there's not much. I think I remember being moved, and hearing some people talking but not really understanding them. And... Wait! Yeah, I remember seeing Cameron, or at least I think I do.”

At that, Liz raised her eyebrows. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he said. It wasn't more than a flash of memory, but seemed pretty definite. “It was like he was … looking down at me? I don't know if that makes any sense.”

“Well, we found you and Ritter lying on tables in a hidden part of the lab,” said Liz, eyes dark, “so I guess that does make some sense.”

“What?!” Ressler stared at her. That was when he really took in his surroundings: yes, it was a hospital bed he was lying on, but the room looked very different from his average hospital room. It had clear glass walls, not very far away from his bed, and for that matter, Liz was gowned. There was a mask around her neck, though it was obviously not over her face. “What the hell--?” He was in isolation. “How long were Ritter and I missing?”

She looked even more serious. “It took us over an hour to find you.”

He scoffed. “I thought you were going to say a day or something, with all of this!” He gestured around him, noting that his arm was harder to lift than he expected.

“It was apparently enough time for Dr. Cameron to do something to you both,” she said, “and we couldn't figure out what. And considering his … areas of expertise, the Bureau decided better safe than sorry. That's why you're in isolation.”

Ressler swallowed. He and Agent Ritter had been at the mercy of Cameron and his team for an hour. Yeah, it did make sense for precautions to be taken. “But the doctors haven't found anything? We're okay?”

“You both were unconscious, unresponsive, and had high fevers when we found you,” she informed him. “The doctors said it looked like your immune systems had been attacked. But you've been here for two days, and they've run all kinds of tests, and they haven't found anything contagious or dangerous, or even any signs of permanent damage. So yeah, it looks like you're okay.”

Her smile at the end of this statement was comforting, but not so much that he wasn't disturbed by the fact that he had been here for two days – days that he didn't remember at all. “Have I been unconscious this whole time, then?”

“Pretty much.” Liz took a deep breath. “It's good to have you back, Ressler.”

“Thanks.” He appreciated the sentiment, although he didn't exactly feel settled and at peace with everything he'd just learned. Dr. Cameron specialized in the kind of experiments that made mad scientists look like your friendly neighborhood pediatrician. Maybe the doc just hadn't had time to do whatever he had planned for his prisoners this time. That had to be it. “Did we get the guy, at least?”

She looked down. “No. He was gone by the time we found you. We only got a few of his people.”

“Damn.” That wasn't good news. That meant the crazy son of a bitch was still out there. He could start up his work again, capture more people and subject them to his experiments. And the next time, he might be successful in altering human DNA, or otherwise getting closer to his goal of creating super-soldiers.

“But at least his lab is shut down, and we're tracking down all of his funding sources as we speak,” Liz pointed out, as if she was following his thoughts. “It's not going to be easy for him to start up again.”

He nodded. “Good.” He yawned then, and felt his eyelids grow heavy again. “Sorry.”

“No apology necessary,” she said, smiling again. “Although I am supposed to ask you to try to stay awake until the doctor gets here, so I guess I'll say sorry, that you can't just go back to sleep.”

“Mmm.” Ressler was already halfway asleep, but he rallied as much as he could. “Okay. I'll, uh, do my best.”

He ended up only having to stay in the hospital for another few hours, as the doctor said they were waiting on the results from the last few tests. Once those came up negative, as well, he was released. “Just please be alert for any symptoms that are out of the ordinary,” Dr. Villiers told him. “Since we can't be sure what was done to you, I'm afraid I can't be more specific than that.”

Very reassuring, Ressler thought, but he knew the man was doing the best he could. “Got it,” he said. At least he felt more alive than he had when Keen had been there earlier. (She had been called back to work an hour ago.) Still, he had no problem with taking a cab back to his apartment. Even if his car had been there, he figured it was best not to risk any chance he might still fall asleep.

~  
A month passed. Ressler didn't notice any lingering effects from his brief captivity, and when he came across Agent Ritter at work, the man said the same thing. He almost forgot about it – other than the occasional updates on the doctor's finances and the even more occasional sightings. There was no evidence the doctor had restarted his experiments, though.

Life went on for a while, as normally as it ever did for those who were part of this task force. They caught several Blacklisters. Liz's birthday came around, and although she reacted with real happiness to his idea of how they could celebrate together, it didn't seem to lift the depression he'd been noticing in her for long.

Then everything changed, dramatically. First, Reddington was shot and nearly killed by the Cabal – the shadowy organization that Liz suddenly informed them had been Reddington's greatest enemy for decades now. Red had blackmail information on them, she told them. Then, not long after that, a CIA outpost was bombed. This was the work of an infamous Russian assassin according to Reddington. But that was before his partner was framed for it, fled FBI custody, and ended up murdering the Attorney General. Then to top it all off, she went on the run with Reddington.

Ressler found himself struggling against the feeling that his entire world was collapsing around him. His partner had eluded FBI capture multiple times now, and with Reddington looking after her, it was seeming more and more likely they would get away for good. The FBI was compromised, though it was unknown how much. Cooper had been demoted. Ressler was in charge of the task force now. He had to hunt Liz down, while Aram all but accused him of not giving Liz the benefit of the doubt and Samar (understandably, he had to admit) started out by questioning his fitness to do his job. At least he had managed to rein in his anger enough to stop scaring his remaining field partner.

With a heavy sigh, Ressler got out of his car at his apartment's parking garage. He honestly wasn't sure how much more of this he'd be able to take. Even the fact that the task force had been able to sort of partner with the two fugitives today to stop a truly evil plot didn't make it much easier to deal with.

He had almost reached the door to the building when he heard a faint sound behind him. He whirled around, hoping it wasn't Tom Keen again. But there was no one there that he could see. “Hello?” he called out, gun at the ready. “I'm really not in the mood for games right now, so if anyone's there...”

There was no response. A second later, he heard a tiny popping sound, and something whizzed through the air and struck him in the side of the neck. Crying out in surprise and pain, Ressler reached up to touch it. A dart. _What the hell?_ But before he could even pull it out, blackness swallowed him and he fell to the ground.

It took a long time after that until he even began to regain consciousness. He got close a few times, once again hearing some snatches of conversation that he couldn't interpret, and also aware that he was being transported at least once. Then it was a pervasive pain deep in his bones that brought him very close to waking, just long enough to see that he was inside some brightly-lit, sterile-looking place. The lights hurt his eyes. After he shut them, he was pulled back under.

When he finally came completely awake, it was because of a shock of cold water over his face and neck. The first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was the bars of a cage, a couple of feet in front of him. He coughed, cursed, and sat up. The cage he was in was at least twice the size of the one in which he'd been shoved into in Sitka, before that demented hunt had started – but that didn't make it less of a terrible feeling to wake up to. He was caged, and the cage was against one wall of a cold, empty room with a concrete floor. He was also shirtless, and there were two people standing over him. One of them was Dr. Cameron.

“Excellent. Now that the subject is awake, we can move on to the next phase of testing,” the doctor said, watching Ressler avidly. He was holding a tablet. The man next to him was holding... _Shit._ That looked like a cattle prod.

Scrambling backward, Ressler tried to take a breath. He felt strange, even aside from the fear that was building rapidly. Sore, and weak. “What the hell is this?” he said loudly. “What are you doing to me?”

Neither of the men replied or even acknowledged his demand for answers. “Remember, start on the lowest setting,” Cameron said, as the other man approached the cage.

There was no way to avoid it, Ressler saw in despair. The bars of the cage were metal, and its floor was metal as well. He was barefoot. “Please--” he started. At that moment, the man touched the cattle prod to the cage bars.

Ressler screamed as the current jolted through him. Then it was like all the oxygen was stolen from his lungs, so he couldn't breathe, couldn't keep himself still while it continued. Finally it stopped. He lay on the floor of the cage, twitching, shuddering, and gasping.

He could tell that the two men hadn't left, although he had landed facing away from them. He shut his eyes and tried to regulate his breathing. He had no idea what the doctor was even hoping to accomplish with this. It wasn't straightforward torture. Cameron had called it a test – but for what?

Some seconds ticked by. The effects of the shock started to fade, though he still ached. With effort, Ressler turned to face his tormentors. They both looked expectant. But after about a minute, Dr. Cameron sighed. “Setting two, then,” he said, looking down and entering in something on his tablet.

“No,” gasped Ressler, shaking his head. But again, there was nothing he could do to stop it. When the current ceased this time, he felt like he had been fried and yet also turned into quivering jelly. He couldn't move at all, beyond the tremors that shook him.

This time, though, he became aware that there was something else happening throughout his body. There was a hot, prickling sensation spreading under his skin. It wasn't painful, but it wasn't comfortable, either. Still, it seemed to erase the lasting pain of the electric shock as it spread, so he didn't try to fight it.

“Sir, do you see--?”

“Yes, of course I do!”

Ressler barely noticed the excited comments of the two men watching him. He was too busy being overwhelmed by all the sensations of what was going on in his body. He was-- changing. Growing. The cage was a little smaller around him already. And his eyes and ears felt strange. Mostly, though, he felt... He sat up slowly. He felt strong.

“Successful, very successful,” the doctor was muttering in glee, taking photos with his tablet as well as typing in information rapidly. “We can move the trials forward... I'll need to alert our funders...”

The sound of his voice faded out. Ressler was furious. He had never been so angry before. This guy – this guy had done something to him, changed him, and locked him in a cage. He was nothing but a test subject to this man. The rage grew until it flooded him, like the electric charge had before. It was only after he let out a growl that he even realized the changes had started up again. They were much more dramatic this time. Soon he was much bigger, on all fours, and reddish-brown fur had covered his arms and chest. His bones and muscles and organs felt like they were shifting around. Meanwhile, the fur continued to spread until he was entirely covered. In irritation, he shook off the tatters of the loose pair of pants he'd been wearing, and stalked to the front of the cage.

Ressler was pleased to see that the men, the humans who had hurt him, stepped back as he got closer. He growled once more, louder, and then reared up to push against the bars of the cage. The bars didn't budge, but the men flinched again.

The man in the white coat – for some reason, it was hard to think of his name – looked distressed. Ressler cocked his head as he sat back down. He had to concentrate to make sense of the sounds the man was making, but he knew it could be important, so he did.

“--still unstable, after all my work!” He sighed, and started to pace. “This is the second time today. Terrible. We're going to have to update our funders, even though it's another failure. They'll keep asking, anyway, even if we try to put them off.”

“What do you want done with-- with the specimen in the meantime?” the other man asked. He wasn't holding the first weapon anymore – the one that had been so painful. Instead, he had taken out something that it only took Ressler a moment to recognize as a gun. “Should I put it down, like the other one?”

Instantly, Ressler snarled and backed away a few steps. The doctor shook his head, dispirited. “No, not yet. The funders said they would want to see it for themselves this time first, no matter the outcome.”

The two men left shortly after that. Ressler was left alone in his cage. He paced the few steps its size allowed him, checking to be sure there were no structural weaknesses. Finding none, he sighed and lay down in the middle, facing the entrance to the large room the cage was in. The scents of the room gave him no new information, either.

He must have started to doze, because the sounds of voices and people approaching caused him to sit up and go on the alert. He twitched his ears forward. There were three – no, four people coming toward the door. He got to his feet.

The door opened. The first two humans who entered were familiar: the doctor and his armed companion. Behind them came another man who looked like he might be – a guard, that was the right word, and a sharply-dressed, dark-skinned man Ressler had never seen before, but who looked to be in charge based on how the others acted in relation to him.

“I'll be happy to show you the footage and the photos, if you care to see them,” the doctor was saying. “We-- we were closer than ever before, I can promise you that.”

“And yet, there's an animal in that cage now, not the super-soldier we've been waiting for,” the leader said, his intent gaze on Ressler. As he got closer, he whistled. “Though I will admit, this animal is quite impressive.”

Ressler found that he didn't like being looked at like this man was looking at him. He bared his teeth and put his ears back, but didn't move.

The doctor seemed faintly surprised. “Well – yes, I suppose it is. Are you interested in keeping it alive?”

“What strains did you use in this particular specimen?” the leader asked, as he walked slowly around the cage, not taking his eyes off Ressler. “I mean, the wolf is obvious, but what else?”

“It's mostly wolf, as you guessed,” said the doctor. “That's where we were hoping to get endurance, tracking ability, intelligence, and the ability to work well in teams. But we also added in a few elements of Siberian tiger DNA this time – for size, strength, intelligence again, climbing ability, and the ability to hunt alone. Of course, I'd hoped for all of that in a form that still was recognizably human...”

“Still. Very impressive,” the other man repeated, with a nod. “And I suppose the tiger element explains the faint patterning we can see on his sides, hmm?” He pointed.

“That would probably be the source, yes,” the doctor agreed.

They were all silent for a few seconds. Ressler had relaxed just fractionally, though he couldn't fail to be aware of the threat that his situation might change at any moment. He was also doing his best to process and understand what they were saying about him. Like before, he knew it was all important information, but part of him didn't want to expend the effort of comprehending it.

“Well. This is interesting, Doctor,” the sharply-dressed man said, exhaling. Then he looked away, to meet the doctor's eyes. “This was another FBI agent, correct?”

“Yes.” The doctor looked down at the flat object in his hands. “Uh... Donald Ressler.”

Ressler jerked his head up. They were still talking about him, but … there was something wrong here. Something very wrong. Without even meaning to, he whined.

The leader laughed. “Oh, he still knows his name! How clever.” He leaned over, just a little closer to the cage bars, still smiling. “You're a smart boy, aren't you, Donald?”

Even in the midst of his mental turmoil, Ressler recognized the demeaning tone of voice. He snarled and lunged forward, noting in minor satisfaction that the man flinched. But then the man just laughed again, straightened, and shook his head. “This just gets better and better. Dr. Cameron, you may have failed at your objective again, but your creation this time certainly isn't without its uses. I think Donald here might be just what we need, for a particular purpose.”

Dr. Cameron blinked. “Really? How so?”

“You don't need to concern yourself with that,” was the man's response. “All you need to do is get him ready for transport, and prepare any instructions or information you think will be useful for his care. We'll handle everything else.”

This time, when he was left alone, Ressler was far from able to lie down. His name. He'd forgotten his own name. On top of that, he'd all but forgotten his human identity. He had just been totally fine with … with this wolf hybrid creature that he was now, hardly aware that anything about himself was missing.

Ressler stared down at himself, as best he could. He was completely transformed. Nothing about himself looked or felt the way it had before – when he was human. He had to remember that. He was an FBI agent, Donald Ressler, part of a task force currently focused on finding Elizabeth Keen. His partner. At least he could still remember that much. He remembered what she looked like, and what he himself used to look like. He absolutely had to hold all of that in his head, no matter what else happened to him.

Then he sat down suddenly as he thought of another issue. Was there even a point in trying to remember his human self? Was there any chance at all that he could change back? For all he knew, he was stuck like this forever. But-- no, he had transformed into this creature not all that long ago. Surely he could reverse the process. Trying to fight back a wave of panic, Ressler shut his eyes and concentrated on his mental image of himself, his human self, Donald Ressler the FBI agent. For a moment, he felt nauseated and like he was losing all structural integrity. But when he opened his eyes, nothing had changed.

He was hyperventilating now, Ressler realized a moment later. He forced himself to stop. No. He couldn't give up. Maybe... Maybe he needed a jolt of energy to change back, like he had apparently required an electric shock to get this way. So he just had to wait. And meanwhile, he needed to stay strong in his own identity.

He lay back down, still tired and sore enough that he could have slept, if he wanted to. But instead he stayed awake, wondering how long it had been since Cameron's people took him, and if the task force was looking for him now as well as Liz and Reddington. He also had to wonder who the new guy who had showed such interest in him was, who he represented – and why he thought Ressler was going to be useful to him.

Not too much later, the door to the room opened again. It was the guard from earlier, along with the man who wanted to use Ressler for something. The guard was carrying a plastic tub – and whatever was in it made Ressler's mouth water. He was immediately ravenous. He stood up and watched them as they got closer.

“Ah, I think he smells his dinner,” the man in the suit said, smiling broadly. “Isn't that right, Donald?”

Ressler stayed silent, his gaze on the man. He saw the cattle prod was in this man's hands now, not the guard's.

“Okay, here's your first lesson, Donald,” the man continued. “I'm not sure how much you understand, but this will be a test for that, too. The people I represent are interested in you. They think we'll be able to use you to good effect. That means we want you healthy. However, we also want you cooperative. Obedient, you could even say.”

At that, Ressler couldn't help baring his teeth just for a moment. The man's eyebrows rose. “Well, well. Looks like you understand just fine. In that case, I'll give it to you straight: you do what we say, and you get fed. You disobey, you don't – and depending on the infraction, you might get punished, too. If you get that, show me by nodding.”

Ressler thought about pretending he didn't understand, but he wasn't sure what benefit that would be in the long run. It would probably just lead to a lot more 'punishment'. Slowly, he nodded.

“Good!” The man beamed. “Then we'll start you off with a nice meal. But if you make any sudden moves when this gentleman here opens your door--” He raised the cattle prod, turning it on for a moment. “Got it?”

Ressler hadn't been able to keep himself from flinching at the sound of the cattle prod. He nodded again. There was little point that he could see to trying to escape right now, anyway.

“It's a pleasure to work with someone who knows how to listen, for a change,” said the man. Then he gestured to the guard. “Go ahead, Carl.”

Ressler backed up to allow the guard room while he unlocked the keypad on the cage door. The scent of the meat was getting stronger. Ressler swallowed. Finally, the open tub had been set on the floor of the cage, and the door was shut. He didn't wait any longer.

It was raw – recently butchered, most likely – and didn't seem to have been prepared very much before being given to him. But that didn't bother him. Or at least, he didn't want to think about it enough for it to bother him. He tore into the food eagerly, and didn't stop until he had cleaned the bones of every shred of meat. And after that, when he noted that he was still a little hungry, he found that his jaws were strong enough to crack open most of the bones so he could clean them out, as well.

“See that, Carl?” the man in the suit said, gesturing at the cage. “That is efficiency. No food waste. We could all learn from the animal kingdom's example in that.”

Ressler shot a look at his observers, but decided that word choice there didn't matter. He cleaned his face and front paws and then lay down.

“We'll let you sleep that off, Donald,” the man said. “Let's go, Carl.”

He was already getting drowsy as the guy spoke. And even though it wasn't too much later that things started happening outside his cage, he was still so sleepy after the heavy meal that it was hard to really take notice. His cage was being hoisted up, but with care, and the man in the suit was overseeing all of it. Then it was loaded onto a flatbed truck, with a cover over it. That was the last Ressler was aware before the sound of the road lulled him back to sleep.

His arrival at the next destination was decidedly less easy. First of all, when he was woken up by the vehicle stopping and the cover being pulled off his cage, he was disoriented. Though it was dark, there were several bright lights above him, and lots of people all around. He didn't recognize any of them. Then the winch that was being used to lift his cage off the truck got stuck halfway down, which caused the humans around him to start shouting commands and suggestions to each other. He himself would have been mostly fine with the situation if his cage hadn't started to swing back and forth. There was nothing to grip onto, nothing to stop himself from sliding back and forth across the slick metal floor and crashing into the sides over and over.

By the time the cage was on the ground, Ressler was terrified, angry, and in pain. His instincts had taken charge. That meant that the first unlucky human who came close enough to the cage got his arm seized in Ressler's jaws. He might not have let go, either, except that the man's screams and frantic attempts to escape disturbed some part of him. So he released the human after only a few seconds and backed up to the opposite corner of the cage, where he crouched, panting.

The man in the suit came over shortly after that. Ressler was vaguely afraid he was going to be punished for what he had just done, but the man yelled at the people around the cage instead. Ressler was too shaky and upset to really notice what was being said. He was just relieved when his cage was transported much more carefully, into a larger, high-walled enclosure that was still outside. Then everyone but the man in the suit and one guy with a gun left.

“Sorry about all that, Donald,” said the man. “That wasn't the best introduction to your new temporary home. We'll leave you to settle in in a moment, but first, some ground rules.”

It once again took him more effort than he would have liked to be able to comprehend these words. But he sat up and tried to listen.

“Number one: you stay in there until all humans have exited your enclosure,” the man said. “Then you're free to get out and explore. But I'll warn you that these walls have an electric fence around them – strong enough to stop even a big guy like you.”

Ressler blinked and nodded.

“All right. Number two: whenever I show up and ask you to get back in the cage, you do it.” He stared at Ressler. “If you make it difficult, we'll still get you back in the cage, but it will be much more unpleasant for you. Got that?”

Ressler nodded again.

“Good.” The man smiled and stood up straight. “Get some rest. Your job starts tomorrow.”

The guard unlocked the keypad, and then the two men left. Once the large, heavy door to the enclosure was shut behind them, Ressler pawed open his cage door and took a look around.

The whole space was about the size of a large swimming pool. Most of it was concrete, though there was one dirt area with a couple of little trees and other plants. He had a feeling he knew why that part was there. There was also a large water dish just outside his cage. Ressler lapped up some water, then continued examining the rest of the enclosure. There wasn't that much else to see or smell; the walls were high enough that he couldn't reach the fence even when he stretched up as far as he could on his hind legs. When he jumped up on top of his cage, he could see the fence more clearly. He could also hear the humming of the high voltage the man in the suit had warned him about. Even if he were to take a running jump onto the cage and then another jump up out of here, he was pretty sure he would land in the fence (which curved inward, anyway). He was well and truly locked in. Plus, there were at least two surveillance cameras at the top of the wall, one on each end of the enclosure.

With a sigh, Ressler lay down on top of the cage and shut his eyes. There were things he was supposed to be remembering, but it seemed like too much work to bring them to mind right now. He'd try again in the morning. At least he still knew his name. That was enough for now.

~


	2. Chapter 2

~~  
When Liz got up that morning and went downstairs, Red was seated at the breakfast table with a serious expression on his face. “Lizzie. I have some bad news.”

“What is it?” She was about to sit down across from him, but instead he stood up to meet her. Her heart started pounding. “Tell me.”

“It seems Dr. Tyler Cameron has resurfaced, and that his interest in Agent Ressler and Agent Ritter didn't fade with the passage of time.”

Liz stared. “You mean...”

“I mean those two particular agents are missing, believed kidnapped, although there's very little evidence to go on in terms of tracking them down,” Red told her. “But there have also been sightings of the not-so-good doctor around. His reappearance and Ressler's disappearance – I don't believe it's a coincidence.”

She shook her head. “No, I don't think so either,” she said. This was very bad. “So what are we going to do about it?”

“Lizzie...”

“And don't tell me we're not going to do anything,” she went on, going to the counter to pour herself some coffee, “because I'm not going to be okay with that. I understand our goal right now, but we can't just leave Ressler at the mercy of some sociopathic doctor who likes messing with people's DNA!”

He cocked his head at her. “I wasn't going to say we shouldn't do anything.”

“You weren't?” She took a sip and burned her mouth a little, too distracted to have let it cool first.

“No. I was going to tell you that there's evidence that Dr. Cameron is in the Cabal's employ.”

“Seriously?” Liz stared at him again. “What do they want with a creep like him?”

He smiled wryly and shook his head. “I'm not totally certain yet, but I can imagine they'd find uses for a doctor whose complete lack of a code of ethics matches theirs so well. At any rate, it means finding Agent Ressler and taking down Cameron will strike a blow against the Cabal, as well.”

“Then let's get to work.” She sat down. “What else do we know? How long has he been missing?”

“Two days now,” he told her. “Agent Ritter went missing at about the same time.”

The best lead, it turned out after their discussion, was that all sightings of Cameron were in western Illinois, west of Springfield. Red promised he would get his people searching for any likely facilities, while the two of them dug into any possible reasons the Cabal would have Cameron on their payroll.

They had searched through all the records that Lizzie could discover, and a few that had been sent to him by Aram. Lizzie was both surprised and totally unsurprised that Aram was willing to help the two of them. It was also good to be assured that the FBI was doing their best to track down their missing agents, too.

It was the opposite of good to discover that the Cabal's interest in Dr. Cameron seemed to be due to his fascination with the idea of creating super-soldiers. The fact that he hadn't succeeded yet didn't bother them, based on the twisted trail that led back to his sizable payments from them. Of course these people would have a use for men and women that had been taken and changed into the perfect weapons for them, Liz thought, cold at the very idea. And if this was what Cameron was focusing on now – and he had Ressler...

That was when Reddington got a call – from Aram. The FBI had found a facility that they believed Dr. Cameron was using. The doctor hadn't been there when they arrived, but there was ample evidence that it had been his new laboratory. They had also found... Aram struggled for words at this point.

“What? Agent Mojtabai, what did they find?” Reddington's voice was more patient than Liz could imagine being right now, herself.

Aram, who was on speaker phone, took a deep breath. “There was some kind of large dead animal, buried in a shallow grave behind the place,” he said. “I'll, uh, send you pictures, I guess. They're not pretty. It looks kind of like a big cat, but there's something-- very wrong about it. We're going to run tests to see if we can figure out the story there.”

That sounded disturbing. “Aram, were there any signs of Agent Ressler or Ritter?” she asked.

He took another breath. “Yes. We found, uh, we found all of Agent Ressler's clothes he was wearing the day he went missing, stored in a little locker thing in one of the rooms, as well as his badge and gun. Agent Ritter's stuff was in the next locker over.”

Liz's heart sank. She had not wanted this confirmation of Ressler's captivity. “Please keep us posted, when you can,” she told Aram. “And … be careful.”

“You, too, Liz,” he replied immediately. “And-- and Mr. Reddington, too.”

“Thank you, Aram,” Red said with a slight smile, before ending the call.

Liz put her head in her hands. “This is bad,” she whispered. If she spoke any louder, she was afraid she would start crying.

“We're going to find him, Lizzie,” Red declared.

She nodded, not looking up. She didn't doubt they would. She just hoped he would still be alive when they did.

~~  
The next morning, Ressler was woken up by the man in the suit's voice, coming through into the enclosure via an intercom at the door. “Donald. Time to get up. You'll get some breakfast if you say in your cage while it's delivered.”

Ressler stood up, shook himself, and stretched. It took him a few seconds to recall where he was and what was going on. Once he had done so, he jumped off the top of the cage and went inside.

A moment later, the door opened, and two heavily-armed men came in. What they were carrying made Ressler sit up and whine. It was a live deer, currently hogtied but very aware of Ressler's presence judging by its rolling eyes and terrified bleats, not to mention its frantic flailing against the men holding it. The men closed the door while they were still inside, then cut the rope binding the animal's feet and backed away. It immediately fled as far from the cage as possible. Then the two men left.

Ressler thought the familiar voice over the intercom might have said something then about having fun, but he wasn't listening. All of his senses were focused on the young buck at the other end of his space. It was cornered, now. There was nowhere for it to escape.

Slowly, he stepped out of the cage. He had a couple of options: he could simply chase it down, since it couldn't escape. Or he could stalk it.

He decided to see how close he could get before it ran. As it turned out, he made it halfway to the trees at that end before it panicked and tried to run past him. He turned and was on it in seconds. A small part of him was bothered by the fact that he had just killed an animal by snapping its neck with his jaws, but most of him was just pleased with the kill, and ready to enjoy eating it. He was also pleased that the bruises from his rough arrival yesterday seemed to have mostly healed.

He was left alone (as far as he knew) while he ate. Once again, he found himself hungry enough to clean nearly the whole carcass, including the marrow of the bones. And once again, after he had eaten, cleaned himself off, and this time had some water as well, he was lethargic and ready to nap for a while. He half expected not to be allowed this period of relaxation, but no one interrupted him for long enough that he felt decently ready for whatever was next when there was a knock on his door.

“All right, Donald. Time to work for your upkeep. Cage.”

Ressler did as he was told. The door opened again. The man in the suit and two guards came in, followed by a man in a white coat. A doctor. Cameron. He snarled and rushed forward, only for the guards to shut the cage door just in time.

“Now, now,” said the suited man, “that wasn't very nice.” He brandished a cattle prod. “Behave.”

Ressler consented to stop baring his teeth, but that was as calm as he could be. The presence of the doctor was infuriating, knowing what he had done.

“The doctor won't be bothering you for too long,” the man continued, “but the job you'll be doing for us means we need a way to keep track of you. That's what the doctor is here to supply.”

And indeed, the doctor had come closer by now, so Ressler could see he was holding a collar and a little plastic case. Ressler took a step back. This did not look like something he wanted.

“I'd rather not knock you out for this,” said the man in the suit, “because that will mean waiting for you to wake up again instead of getting started right away. So you can either sit still while the doctor fits the GPS collar on you, as well as the backup microchip – or my associates and I can immobilize you, but leave you conscious. It's up to you.”

Ressler sighed and obediently exited the cage, sitting down right in front of it. He was able to control his instinctive reaction to the doctor for long enough that the man successfully fastened the collar around his neck. However, the man in the suit had failed to mention that the backup microchip had to be embedded in his skin. That was too much for Ressler. As soon as he saw the very large syringe, he snarled and twisted free of the guards who had come to hold him still. He whirled around and knocked the first of the guards to the ground, but before he could do any more, the remaining humans surrounded him, drove him away from the fallen man, and then shocked him almost in unison with their cattle prods. He yelped and collapsed, twitching and in agony.

“I did warn you, Donald,” the man in the suit said, crouching next to him with a sad shake of his head. “Go ahead, Doctor, while he's still helpless.”

Ressler felt someone holding him down, and then winced as the large needle went into the skin of his left shoulder.

“Oh, uh, Doc,” said the man, as Ressler was released, “will it mess with your equipment if we shock him again after this?”

“No, it should be fine, Mr. Solomon,” the doctor replied. “Just stay away from the highest settings. The collar is insulated, and the chip itself is pretty hardy.”

“Excellent. Thank you. You can go now.”

Mr. Solomon, the man in the suit, stood up as well. He didn't leave right away, however. “We are on a time schedule, Donald,” he said softly, “and you're starting to cut into it. But at the same time, this is a symptom of a larger behavioral problem, I'm thinking. So we can afford to take a little more time, to train you a little more.” With that, he lowered the weapon to Ressler's side again, and turned it on.

Ressler, who had just started to be able to catch his breath, yelped again and convulsed as the electricity jolted him. The man only kept it in contact with his side for a few seconds, but it was enough to leave him gasping and panting yet again.

Mr. Solomon seemed happy to stand over him and watch the whole time as he recovered from the multiple shocks. When the animal at his feet had finally stopped gasping and shaking, Mr. Solomon nodded toward the entrance to the enclosure. “Bring it in.”

Debating whether or not it was worth it to try to move, Ressler decided to stay where he was. But he looked up when another guard handed a box to Solomon. His nostrils flared. There was something about that box...

“Oh, very good – I see you're already interested,” Solomon said with a smile. “I was just going to tell you that what my people and I are interested in you for is your tracking ability, which Dr. Cameron assures me should be amazing. So what we want you to do is get the scent from this box, and track down the owner of all these objects.”

He opened the flaps of the box and set it down in front of Ressler. Ressler got to his feet, ignoring the guards who immediately put their hands to their weapons. That scent. He buried his face in the box. It was clothes, and shoes, and a few books. And it all smelled like _her_. He whined and wagged his tail. The scent was over a week old, but still strong.

Solomon chuckled. “I take it you've identified the scent. Excellent. Can you find her, Donald?”

He barked, looking from the box to Solomon to the entrance to the enclosure. He needed to find her trail. He knew she hadn't been _here_ , but if he could just get to a place where she had been...

“Oh, I think this is going to work out very well,” said the man, grinning. “Gentlemen, shall we show our eager tracker to the place where his target's trail went cold?”

There was some problem with this, Ressler thought vaguely, even as he followed the men (Solomon still had that box) out of the enclosure. There was something wrong. For one thing, it galled him to be dependent on these people in order to reach his goal. They were cruel, and it was obvious Solomon thought he could control Ressler, force Ressler to obey like some kind of pet. But that scent – Ressler had been searching for her even before he ended up like this (what had he been like before? It was hard to recall). He needed to find her. This was the way he could do it.

Even with this decided, it was frustrating to have to travel by car for a short distance. He wouldn't have minded quite as much except that it evidently had to be a big production. He had to ride in the back of a large panel van with tinted windows, and this was part of a convoy of vehicles both in front of and behind the van. But there was no indication that Solomon was lying about taking him to where they had last tracked her, so he lay down on the folded-down seats of the van and waited impatiently.

At last, the van pulled to a stop, and the back doors were opened. Ressler jumped out and looked around. They seemed to be on a country road, bordered on both sides by cornfields. There was a car abandoned by the side of the road. Mr. Solomon was standing next to it. “Come on, Donald. Take a whiff.”

Ressler trotted over and inhaled as soon as he reached the side door, where there were what looked like traces of blood on the paint. It wasn't hers (that was a relief); he didn't recognize that person's scent. But she had been here – and not too long ago. He sniffed around the whole car, and then picked up her scent again on the side of the road. It was very faint, but it was there.

Ressler was distantly aware that some of the humans were following him on foot. It didn't interfere with his tracking, so he ignored it. Besides, as long as her trail continued clearly enough, he would soon outstrip them. The trail had just gotten fainter – like she had gotten into a car right about here – but he could still track that particular car. It wasn't a heavily-trafficked road, and it hadn't rained since she was here.

Ressler went along the road for some time with no problems. Once, a cat ran across the street in front of him, and he stopped for a second. But no, that wasn't important. That wasn't his job. His job was finding her.

Her car had turned down a narrower side street, he discovered after a few more yards of following the trail. Without hesitation, he turned after her. That was when he heard a frenzy of barking. Two huge dogs ran out of one of the unfenced properties adjoining the road. They were coming straight toward him.

He stood where he was, waiting. The two animals were big, yes – but he was much bigger. He was willing to bet they had never come across anything like him before. As soon as they got close, Ressler raised his hackles and growled as loudly as he could.

Both dogs came to a sudden stop in front of him. He growled again, and the smaller of the two yipped and fled, tail between its legs. The other one (a male, maybe part-German shepherd, he thought) kept coming, slower now. It matched Ressler's aggressive posture.

They circled each other for a few seconds. Ressler was impatient to be done with this confrontation, but not enough to be the one who attacked first. His smaller opponent would have the advantage in speed, most likely.

Hardly had he thought that when the dog dashed forward, aiming to sink its teeth into Ressler's front leg. Ressler didn't move until the other animal was in range. Then he extended his claws and swiped them viciously across the dog's face. The force of the blow knocked it head over heels.

Ressler stalked forward, ready to press his advantage … but the cowed animal yipped, rolled over on its back, and then stumbled off into the yard it had come from in the first place. He watched it disappear. Then he retracted his claws and went back to the task at hand. Thankfully, the scuffle hadn't obliterated the scent of the car he was following. He thought he heard some sounds of the humans who had brought him out here not too far behind, but he wasn't going to hang around for them, that was for sure.

The trail continued for a while until he reached a fenced-in yard at the end of a dirt lane. This fence was not electric, so Ressler made short work of climbing over it. There was no car in the driveway, or anywhere around the farmhouse he had found. But her scent was still faintly present on the front steps and the porch. She had been here. She had no doubt been inside.

Rearing up, Ressler peered in through the front windows. The curtains were mostly drawn, but he could see in through the crack that wasn't obscured. The inside of the house was dark. It didn't seem like anyone was home.

He tried the front door next, turning the handle without too much difficulty. But it was locked. With a huff of frustration, he went around to the side door and the back door. All were locked. However, the back door's latch didn't feel very firm. When he stood up on his hind legs and leaned his weight against it, it gave, and he almost fell into the house.

Her scent was stronger inside, although masked in some places by cleaning supplies. There was another familiar scent as well, which he had also detected at the car by the side of the road. He had known this man was with her; it wasn't a shock. But it was further confirmation that she wasn't going to be easy to find. Somehow he knew that, though he didn't want to spend the time figuring out how he knew.

Ressler searched the entire house (not that it took very long; it was one-story, and only two bedrooms). He estimated that it hadn't been more than two or three days since she had been living here. An attempt had been made to clean the house of traces of her and the man, but they lingered, to his keen nose.

He went back to the main room and sat down for a moment. He'd learned everything there was to learn from this place. She wasn't here anymore, so he needed to keep going. But the thought of the people who were tracking _him_ rankled. He didn't know for sure, but he could guess they weren't looking for her to help her, or for any good reasons. With the way they had treated him, he didn't want them anywhere near her. Beyond that, the collar around his neck was uncomfortable, too.

Ressler scratched at the collar idly for a few seconds. Then he got up and went back into the bathroom he had searched earlier. Looking at the collar in the mirror, he saw that the way it was fastened on wasn't going to be easy to undo. There was a part of the strap that he thought he might be able to push back through the loop without too much trouble, but then the strap went under the little plastic box that he guessed must have the transceiver and whatever else inside it, and he wasn't sure he could figure out a way to thread the strap back under that part. The box itself looked sturdy enough that it would probably be hard to break. On the other hand...

Ressler leaned in closer to the mirror, doing his best not to focus on his own reflection. There was one part of where the box was attached to the strap that looked less than secure. He didn't know how much of a head start he had on his pursuers, but maybe he could work the transceiver loose before he continued his hunt. Quickly, he set to work rubbing that section of the collar against a damaged section of the screen door. It seemed to be working; he could feel the connection start to give. The collar itself, unfortunately, was made of something that wasn't likely to break without some kind of sharp blade, but with a little more work, the transceiver was almost detached. Ressler finished it off with some scratches delivered via his hind leg. He left the little box where it fell.

That accomplished, he exited the house and found the scent of the car that had left most recently. Her scent was very, very faint, but it did overlap with that car. He would be able to follow it, for now at least.

~  
About an hour later, Ressler was starting to get worried. He had followed the trail of the vehicle she had been in successfully up to this point, until that road had merged onto a wider, more heavily-trafficked street. Not only had it immediately become harder to isolate the vehicle he wanted out of the traces of dozens of others, but he also knew he couldn't risk just walking along the street right now. Some human was bound to see him, panic, and either call the police or just try to shoot him themselves, or something else equally bad.

It was close to noon, Ressler judged, by the position of the sun. He was hot and getting a little tired. Lying down wedged between rows of corn in the cornfield where he had stopped, he panted and tried to gather his thoughts. He was about to conclude reluctantly that he would have to wait here, hidden from view, until nightfall, when his shoulder twinged. His ears went back. Now he recalled the chip that the doctor had injected under his skin. If he stayed here, the humans he most wanted to avoid would still be able to catch up to him again, even though he'd removed the transceiver on the collar. They already could determine his location, no doubt.

Growling in pure frustration, Ressler tried to reach back with his teeth to the spot on his shoulder that still stung. It was just out of reach, no matter how he contorted himself. That was on purpose, he figured. He gave up for the moment, panting some more. There had to be a way to remove it.

A few seconds later, he had a thought. It was not an appealing one (not that tearing open his own shoulder with his teeth had been appealing, either), but he thought it might work. He could reach the spot on his shoulder with no trouble using his back claws – claws that were sharper than the average dog's, he knew. But it would be a slower process, and less precise, than if he could have used his teeth. It was going to hurt, for longer.

Ressler took a deep breath, then sat up. Preparing himself for the pain that was coming reminded him of something – something else that had happened to him a while ago. With someone who had helped him, even though it was strange of him to want to help... He shook his head. The memory didn't seem to want to get clearer than that, and besides, it wasn't important right now. He twisted around to look. It was hard to see anything under all of his fur, but he thought he could match up the point that ached beneath his skin with a location that he could aim for.

Leaning against the corn stalks on his right side (for lack of a better support), Ressler unsheathed his claws and began. It was very hard to stay silent at the agony he was causing himself. He might have whimpered once or twice, as he felt the wound getting larger and deeper. It was also hard to stay even partially upright. Finally, after who knew how long (it felt like ages, but that was unlikely to be true), his claws came in contact with the small, hard chip. Ruthlessly, he dug it out, and watched it land in the dirt across from him, spattering the ground with drops of his blood as well. Then he allowed himself to collapse, eyes shut.

But he couldn't pass out. That would be just as useless as sitting here waiting for his enemies to follow the tracking device. Unfortunately, the position of the wound being out of reach of his teeth meant it was out of reach of his tongue to cleanse it and stop the bleeding, as well. He could and did clean off his claws, at least.

Once that was accomplished, he got to his feet and made his way much further into the cornfield. The field was huge, and he was pretty sure it would take a while, at least, for his pursuers to find him even if they had a helicopter. Then he lay down again, made sure he was as hidden as possible by the leaves, and this time allowed himself to fall asleep.

The sound of a bird calling as it flew over him woke him hours later. He sat up, only then recalling the self-inflicted hole in his shoulder. His change in position had pulled at it, but it didn't hurt as much as he expected. When he glanced back at it in the fading evening light, it looked like all the visible blood was dried. That was something.

Ressler stood up and shook himself, then cocked his head to listen. He didn't hear any sounds of humans approaching his position. Still, he figured it was time to get going. It didn't sound like there were many cars on the road at this time, either.

He pushed his way through several rows of corn (wincing a little as some of the rough leaves came in contact with his injury), and headed back toward the road. He would need to return to the last place he had tracked the scent of her car, and go from there.

Once he reached the edge of the field, he peered out cautiously. A truck drove past, and then there was silence. He could always hurry back to the cover of the field if he heard anyone coming – and soon it would be dark enough that he would be hard for others to see. He emerged, and followed his own trail back to where he had left the road. Within a few minutes, he had picked up the scent again.

~~  
Aram's update, when it came, was even more deeply disturbing than his first call. Liz and Reddington had moved to a location near the state line, prepared to cross into Illinois if their investigations into Cameron (and Ressler) led them there. When Aram called, they had just started dinner.

“We, uh, the Bureau's lab just finished looking at the animal we found at Cameron's site,” he said after greeting them briefly. There was an audible cough. “It-- it was Agent Ritter.”

“What do you mean?” Liz asked, meeting Red's eyes over the phone between them. He looked grim.

“I mean just that. The first tests came up with some anomalies, so we had more extensive tests done. A DNA panel of the dead creature revealed the majority of its DNA was from a Siberian tiger, with a small percentage from a gray wolf, and then an even smaller percentage from a human. Who, it turned out, was Agent Ritter.”

Liz was immediately glad she hadn't eaten yet. Her stomach twisted. “Dr. Cameron changed Agent Ritter into some kind of animal, at the DNA level?”

Aram took a shaky breath. “It looks like it. We can't figure out why else Agent Ritter's DNA would be mixed up with those animals'. And it does sort of track with what we knew about Cameron before.”

“Yes,” said Red. “Although we know his end goal is to create stronger, faster human soldiers with enhanced senses, not animal hybrids. Perhaps that explains the unfortunate agent's fate.”

“But--” Liz forced herself to inhale. “But what does that mean for Ressler?”

“Liz, we searched the whole building and the grounds multiple times,” Aram said after a pause. “There was no sign of him, except the clothes. No blood, and no-- no other dead animal.”

“Okay,” she said. She shut her eyes for a moment. “Okay. Then they must have moved him. Obviously.” What he had looked like when they moved him was much more of an open question. Her nausea increased.

“Yeah,” her friend agreed. “It's just that we don't have much in the way of clues as to where.”

“Keep looking, Agent Mojtabai,” Red said, not unkindly. “If my people dig anything up, we'll get it to you, as well.”

After the call ended, Liz stayed where she was. Her imagination was running wild. If poor Agent Ritter had been transformed into some kind of big cat hybrid and then shot, what the hell had been done to Ressler? Was he still human? And if he had been transformed, did that mean the Ressler she knew was gone forever? Where would Cameron have taken him, and why?

“Lizzie.” Red's voice broke her out of her thoughts. He had sat back down at the dinner table, and was watching her in concern. “There's no point in sitting there worrying about Ressler. As I told you before, we will find him, and we will stop Cameron. If Donald has been-- altered, then we'll simply persuade the doctor to change him back to his normal self.”

That was an option Liz hadn't yet thought of. She breathed a little bit easier and nodded. “All right. That means we have to be sure Cameron doesn't get killed in the crossfire, when we or the Bureau do find him.”

Red agreed. “Now, will you have some dinner? It would be a shame to let Anna's cooking go to waste, don't you think?”

Liz stood up reluctantly. Her stomach still hadn't settled. “I'm not sure I'm going to be able to eat, after what we just learned,” she said, staring at the floor.

“Give it a try, at least,” he said gently.

Later that evening (she had managed to eat one small helping of the casserole that Red's friend's housekeeper had prepared before she left), Liz went out to sit on the front porch swing. The night was cool and clear. She took several deep breaths, enjoying the quiet of their surroundings compared to the city. It reminded her of where she had grown up.

A few minutes later, she thought she saw a shape moving, in the shadows at the edge of the porch light. Instantly, she went for the gun at her waistband, feeling that now-familiar panic. She should call for Red. She should go inside at least, and warn him that--

The shape got closer, and then she saw two eyes reflecting the light. It was an animal of some kind, not the police, or the Cabal, or any of the others who were hunting her. She let out a sigh of relief and lowered her gun.

The relief was short-lived, when the animal came closer. It was huge. She had never seen a wolf in person before, other than from a distance at the zoo, but she thought this was much bigger than wolves were supposed to be. At least as big as the tigers or lions she'd seen at the same zoos. And it was coming right towards her.

Gasping, Liz raised her weapon again. The animal stopped moving. It whined faintly, and its tail waved a little. Then it cocked its head at her and sat down.

This was strange. It didn't look like a domestic dog of any breed, but this creature didn't seem aggressive, either. Liz lowered her weapon, though she didn't put it away. “Hey there,” she said softly. “What are you doing here?”

At her words, the wolf's ears pricked forward, and it stood up – but slowly. It took a few cautious steps toward her. In the light, she could see that it was beautiful, though unusually patterned: most of its fur was reddish-brown, getting lighter on its legs and muzzle, and there were faint, darker stripes on its sides. Its eyes were a startling blue, and they were fixed on her face.

“I've never seen anything quite like you before,” Liz told the animal, smiling despite her lingering caution. She was considering her next move when it took another step into the light, and she saw the glistening patch of dark red on its shoulder. “Oh, no, you're hurt. What happened, you poor thing?”

The wolf cocked its head again, and then glanced back at its injury. There was a collar around its neck, she noticed. This just kept getting weirder and weirder.

Just then, the wolf turned quickly, staring behind her. Liz heard Red's approach a few seconds later. “Lizzie? Who are you talking-- my God.”

As Reddington came to stand next to her, the wolf took a step back, showing its teeth for a second but not making a sound.

“It just showed up a minute ago,” Liz told him in a low voice, not taking her eyes off their visitor. “It--” She made a decision. “ _He_ doesn't seem aggressive at all. He knows what a gun is, too.”

“I imagine so,” was Red's reply. She could tell his own weapon was at his side. “But despite its lack of overt aggression, I would prefer it to stay where it is – or really, to go back wherever the hell it came from.”

Red had kept his voice level, but the wolf reacted surprisingly. He growled, just a little, and backed away another step. Then, moving his gaze from Red back to Liz, the creature put his ears back, made a high, pleading sound, and half crouched, his front half much lower than the back.

“Well,” said Red, after a moment, eyebrows raised. “Did you ever study wolf or dog social behavior in your classes, Lizzie?”

“A little,” she replied. She glanced at him, then back out at the yard. “And I used to have a dog. Remember?”

He nodded. “What does our friend seem to be trying to tell us?”

“That he's not a threat,” Liz answered. She put her gun away, more and more intrigued. “It's classic submissive posture.”

“Right.” Red didn't put his weapon away, but he was clearly interested as well. “So what brings a truly enormous wolf to us, to this house? He hasn't left, though he knows we're armed. And he almost seems to--” Then he stopped, and his expression turned grave.

“What?” Liz looked at him again.

Red swallowed. “He almost seems to know us, Lizzie. You, especially.”

“That's--” Liz choked on her own words. It was true. He did. And his eyes... She gasped and turned back to the yard. Other than the eyes, there was nothing at all about this animal that looked like him. But that didn't mean anything. “Ressler?” she whispered, unable to speak louder.

The wolf barked, rising from his crouch and wagging his tail again. He moved forward and stopped just in front of the front steps.

“Oh my God.” Liz brought a trembling hand to her mouth, holding back a sob. “Ressler.”

Ressler, if it really was him, whined, and looked at her in what was evidently concern. Now that he was this close, she could see that the blood on his shoulder was mostly dried. Still, the wound itself looked a little grisly. They would need to help him. But for the moment, her mind couldn't move past the fact that her partner had apparently been changed into the animal that stood in front of her now. He was here by himself, as far as they could tell. Which meant he had found them, found her, by himself. She let out a laugh that was more of a sob. He had finally caught up to her. Like he said he would. He hadn't even given up after what Cameron did to him. “How did you get here, Ressler?” she whispered, wiping her hands under her eyes. “How did you find us?”

“I would guess he simply tracked you,” Reddington said after a moment. His voice was deceptively calm; Liz could tell he was keeping his emotions masked. “Wolves are, after all, renowned for their tracking abilities.”

“But how did he get away from Cameron?” she asked. “They didn't shoot him. I-- God, I wish he could tell us himself. I wish...”

“Yes,” said Red with a heavy sigh.

He was going to speak further, but was interrupted by a sudden sound of distress from Ressler. It was somewhere between a whimper and a howl, and it was accompanied by wide eyes and flattened ears. He repeated the sound, barked, and backed away. Before Liz could do more than say his name, he met her gaze for a second, shook his head, and then spun around and dashed off into the darkness.

“Ressler!” She ran down the steps after him, but he was already completely invisible to her gaze. She had no idea what had caused him to become so agitated all of a sudden.

“Let him go, Lizzie,” said Red from behind her. “Whatever just happened with Donald, at least he knows where we are. He clearly expended a great deal of effort to get here, so we can be pretty sure he'll be back.”

Liz stared futilely in the direction her partner had disappeared for a few more seconds, then sighed and turned back to the house. “I hope so,” she murmured. If he didn't come back, there was no way they could hope to get him help. They had to be able to help him.

~


	3. Chapter 3

~~  
He was getting closer now. Ressler could feel it. The road had become less busy again, and the scent correspondingly stronger. Plus, it was now fully dark, so he didn't have to be quite so alert for the sound of passing cars, since he had plenty of time to get off the road now before anyone would see him.

And then, finally, he arrived at the very car he'd been tracking for so long. It was parked by the side of the road, at the beginning of a long gravel and dirt driveway. Her scent was much stronger at the car, and leading away from it. There was a fence around the edge of the yard, but it took very little trouble to climb over it.

Ressler noticed in a distracted fashion as he followed her footprints up the driveway that this property was quite expansive. There was a grove of trees off to his left, and maybe a pond or something to his right. By far the most important thing was ahead of him. _She_ was here.

But just as the house was getting closer, Ressler stopped for a second. He felt like he was missing something, or maybe a number of things. Important things. Her name, for one thing. His was Donald Ressler. He remembered that much. But hers... He sat down, scratching at his collar with one hind leg as he thought. He had to bring her name to mind before he continued, he decided.

It was harder than he had thought it would be. There was a lot that he knew was there, somewhere, in his mind, but he couldn't seem to access it. That was frustrating. Finally, he bent down and inhaled the traces of her scent again, closing his eyes as he did so. Yes. Liz. Her name was Liz.

Satisfied, Ressler started forward again. The house had a porch light on, and there was someone on the porch, he saw. It was her. It was Liz. His heart lightened. He had found her.

But he probably shouldn't just run up to her, as much as he found he wanted to, Ressler realized. She... There was a reason she wouldn't recognize him right away. So he approached slowly.

When she saw him, he knew he had been right to take it slow. Her first reaction was to pull out her gun and point it at him. But he wasn't really afraid she would shoot him. All he had to do was show her he wasn't her enemy. He sat down, whining softly.

It seemed to work. Liz lowered her weapon. Then she started to talk to him in quiet tones. She didn't know him yet, but it was still progress, he figured. It was safe to come closer, then.

That was when the other person whose scent had been so closely tied to hers came out onto the porch behind her. Ressler couldn't help taking a step back. He knew this man. This man was … dangerous, and the two of them had clashed before. But this man cared about Liz, and wasn't truly Ressler's enemy. Ressler knew that much. He stayed where he was.

Liz was talking about him to the man, Ressler heard. He had to pay attention. She was telling him that the animal wasn't aggressive. The man agreed, but said, “Despite its lack of overt aggression, I would prefer it to stay where it is – or really, to go back wherever the hell it came from.”

This was not promising. Ressler wanted to growl, to protest – but that would just reinforce the idea that it wasn't good for him to stick around. So instead, he showed them what his instincts told him would be undeniable as a gesture of friendliness. Of the opposite of aggression.

And it seemed to work. “He's not a threat,” said Liz. “It's classic submissive posture.” She put her gun away, looking at him in fascination.

The man recognized it, as well, though he was still cautious. “So what brings a truly enormous wolf to us, to this house? He hasn't left, though he knows we're armed. And he almost seems to--”

Liz was disturbed by the way the man stopped, Ressler could tell. But she was much, much more distressed when he went on to point out that it seemed like the wolf knew them. Her, especially.

Liz turned back to stare at him. “Ressler,” she whispered.

Ressler stood up from his half crouch and barked, trying not to show his excitement too much. She knew him now. Things were bound to get better from here on out.

But she didn't look happy. In fact, she looked heartbroken. Ressler looked at her anxiously from the base of the porch steps. He didn't understand why she was upset. He hadn't come here to make her cry, but it looked like she was trying very hard not to cry.

“How did you get here, Ressler? How did you find us?” she said, her gaze fixed on him. Those were questions, but she obviously didn't expect an answer. Which made sense, because...

Before he could pursue that line of thought, the man spoke. “I would guess he simply tracked you. Wolves are, after all, renowned for their tracking abilities.”

But he wasn't just a wolf. He knew that. The sense that he was missing something grew stronger.

Liz was asking her companion how Ressler could have escaped from Cameron. She sighed and said, “God, I wish he could tell us himself.”

That was it. Abruptly, Ressler felt horror and then shame wash over him. He had forgotten. He had forgotten again, that he was-- that he had been human. Dr. Cameron had taken him, changed him. Memories rushed back to him then, of his life and who he was. Along with them came the realization of how close he had come to leading Mr. Solomon right to Liz's doorstep. He didn't know who the guy worked for, but he was clearly a dangerous enemy. And now... Now here he was, an animal, who had blindly followed a-- what? Instinctive urge, to find Liz? He hadn't even bothered to think about what would happen once he did so. But of course he hadn't. Up until now, he'd barely had more reasoning ability than your average golden retriever.

He looked at Liz again. She pitied him, the creature that had once been her partner. Of course she did. Reddington probably did, too. Ressler let out a cry that sounded an awful lot like a howl, and then turned to flee. He couldn't stand their sad gazes on him for another second.

He wasn't sure how long he ran, but when he stopped, he was under the shadow of a grove of trees. Maybe the one he'd passed on the way to Liz's house. In that case, he must not have gone that far, and yet he was exhausted.

Ressler flopped down between the roots of an especially large tree and shut his eyes. He was hungry, thirsty, tired, and miserable. Maybe the fatigue would be strong enough that he would be able to sleep, instead of dwelling on how much he had almost lost, and what was still lost. But then again, maybe he should try to stay awake. The last time he had slept, he had woken up having forgotten most of his identity.

That fear was enough to keep his eyes open for at least half the night. Eventually, though, the stress of the day overwhelmed him and he fell asleep. When birdsong woke him up early the next morning, it was with a jolt of adrenaline. Had he forgotten again?

But as he shot to his feet, Ressler took stock and found that he remembered it all: what he had done yesterday, how Liz and Reddington had figured out it was him, and all his other memories that had returned. They were still there. He sighed in relief. Now, all he had to worry about was what the hell he was supposed to do next.

The first item of business was a water source. He could hear what sounded like water moving nearby. A little closer to the edge of this small forest, he found a creek and drank from it. Food, he was willing to bet, wasn't going to be that easy. Unless...

Ressler huffed and shook his head. No. He wasn't going to go back to the house and beg for scraps. Liz and Red had no obligation to feed wild animals that came skulking around. There was no reason for him to stay here at all. Except that they had mentioned Dr. Cameron last night. Maybe … maybe they knew more about what had happened to him than he did. Besides, he had no other ideas of where to go. Living alone in this tiny patch of trees was not a long-term solution, especially not if he wanted to hold onto his human self at all.

With a sigh of defeat, Ressler started toward the house again. He would try to stay out of their way as much as possible, but he needed to know if they knew any way of-- of fixing this.

As he came toward the front porch again, he saw that Liz was out sitting on the porch swing. It had to be extremely early in the morning (the sun had barely risen), but she was awake, bundled up in a coat. Waiting for him, it seemed, based on how she stood up when she saw him. “Ressler,” she said, with a tremulous smile, “you came back.”

He stopped at the base of the stairs like he had last night. This time, though, instead of excitement and hope, all he felt was worry and shame. He couldn't even look at her for very long before dropping his head to stare at the steps.

“Okay, I'm going to do this now even though I feel kind of idiotic,” Liz said, walking to the edge of the porch and, to Ressler's surprise, sitting down on the steps right in front of him. She cleared her throat. When he looked at her, she said, “Here goes: if you can understand what I'm saying, could you … nod, or do something else to show it?”

At least he could be sure that Liz wasn't going to use him, like Solomon had. Ressler nodded once, and then watched her face.

She smiled again, more genuinely this time. “Really?” When he nodded again, she sighed, smiled more, and pushed her hair behind her ears. “That's a relief. I'm so glad. I-- I was afraid you were gone.”

At that, Ressler couldn't help putting his ears back and sighing himself. If she only knew how close he'd come to that... And he hadn't even fought against it. He'd just let it happen.

“Hey, it's okay, Ressler,” she said in a quiet voice. Then she grimaced. “I mean, obviously it's not okay that-- that this happened to you. But we're going to find a way to fix it.”

That would be nice, Ressler thought. She'd probably forgive him if she knew he wasn't letting himself get too hopeful, though.

She looked at him and said firmly, “We will find a way. We're going to hunt Cameron down, and make him tell us how to bring you back to normal.”

He blinked. That would have to be the way to do it, if it was possible at all. A tiny bit of the worry gripping him eased, and he put his ears forward.

“Hey, uh, what's the story with the collar, anyway?” Liz bent closer, reaching out her hand, and frowned when Ressler flinched and stepped back. “I'm not going to hurt you, Ressler. I just want to see it.”

He hadn't been worried about her hurting him. He just … didn't know how to deal with the idea of her touching him, while he was like this. Still, he should probably get over it, he told himself. He was going to have to let her help him in various ways, and some of them would involve being touched. So he sighed and drew closer again, tilting his head so that she could access the collar more easily.

“Thank you,” she said, before bending to look at it. “Huh. Looks like something was broken off here. Did you do that?”

He nodded a little, trying not to flinch again or shiver as the action caused her hands to slip off the collar and come in contact with his fur. She didn't seem bothered, at least.

“Do you want me to take this off?”

Yes, please, he thought, and nodded again. Not only was it a symbol of how easily he'd been manipulated, but it was uncomfortable.

There was a slight hesitation, and then she said, “All right. Hold still.” Within seconds, the collar was off.

Ressler backed up just enough to shake himself all over, and then sat down in front of her. She was turning the object over in her hands. “This looks like... It looks like it could have been a tracking collar. But you said you damaged it. Is that right?”

Another nod. This method of communication, while better than nothing, was quickly getting old. Liz frowned again, thoughtful, and said, “I wish you could tell me where you got it. Was it Cameron?”

Ressler gave a hesitant nod. It was true that Cameron had been the one to put it on him, but only at Solomon's behest. He didn't know how to tell her that, though.

But right then, Liz gasped and stared at him with wide eyes. “It just happened again! Ressler...” She trailed off, leaving him bewildered until she said, “Ressler, who were you just thinking about? Can you try picturing their faces again – the two men?”

Still confused, Ressler nonetheless did so. He knew it would be a long time until he forgot either of them, after what they had done.

Liz jerked backward slightly and put a hand to her head. “Whoa. I recognize Cameron from the surveillance photos, but I've never seen that other guy before.”

His own eyes widened. What the hell was that supposed to mean? Had she seen Solomon now? When he pictured him?

“This is really, really weird,” she muttered, echoing his thoughts. “It's almost like-- like I can hear your thoughts, sort of. But not words. Just … images, and feelings.”

She could... Ressler stood up again, deciding he might as well test that theory. If she could tell what he was thinking about right now...

Liz's forehead creased. “And now you're thinking about … the Washington Monument? And how hungry you are? Is there some kind of connection there I'm not getting?”

Ressler would have laughed in surprise if he could have. He hadn't intended to connect the two ideas, or even focus on the fact that he was hungry, though he was. He opened his mouth in a canine grin. Still, the fact that he could communicate with her in more than just nods or shakes of his head was encouraging.

Liz smiled back, and stood up. “Well, all right, then. Why don't you come inside so we can both have some breakfast?”

Any amusement faded. Ressler shook his head and turned away. There was no way he was eating in front of her, or Reddington for that matter.

“What? What's wrong?” Liz came down the stairs. “I'm sure we have something that you'd like.”

He huffed out a breath and shook his head again. From what he could tell, although he preferred raw meat in this form, he could and would eat just about anything. But the idea of his partner watching him as he ate like a-- well, like an animal...

Liz's voice softened. “Ressler. This is not your fault, and you have nothing to be ashamed of. Now, come inside and at least help us decide what you'll be eating.”

Ressler held out for a few more seconds, but when he looked at her face again and saw no hint of pity, he gave in. As she started up the steps, he followed.

The house was pleasantly warm after the chill of the early morning air. Ressler smelled coffee brewing, and also frying eggs and bacon. That smell made his stomach growl.

“Good morning, Lizzie,” came Red's voice, just before the man himself stepped out of the kitchen. He raised his eyebrows as Ressler came into view. “And good morning to you as well, Donald. I'm afraid I don't have enough bacon and eggs for the three of us, since I'm guessing you could eat all of them and still be hungry, but perhaps we can start you off with some of this before delving into the meat freezer the owners of this house have stocked over the last deer hunting season.”

Ressler snorted, nodding. He was also pretty sure he could eat everything available for Liz's and Red's breakfast with no trouble – but the meat freezer sounded promising.

Reddington looked surprised again. “Lizzie, was your hunch correct after all? Can our guest understand--?”

“Yes, he can,” said Liz, smiling at Ressler for a moment. “Why don't you ask him yourself, though?”

For the first time in Ressler's experience, he saw Reddington look uncertain – just a tiny bit, but still. Then he seemed to recover. “All right. Donald, would you like a plate of breakfast?”

Ressler nodded again. Then he sat down right where he was, still on the tile floor joining the kitchen and the dining room but as out of the way as possible. If he did his best not to be embarrassed by how he had to eat in this form, he could handle it. He had to.

The two humans served themselves plates of food, and Red brought him out a plate as well. He set it down on the floor with an apology that seemed sincere. Mostly. “Not to relegate you to the status of a domesticated animal, but I'm afraid the table only seats two, and you might damage the chairs, anyway.”

Ressler was pretty sure his eye-roll communicated just as well in his current form – and Reddington laughed, so it must have. He did finish everything on his plate in a matter of seconds, as he had predicted to himself. And of course he was still very hungry. But neither Liz nor Reddington acted like he was a major distraction to their meal, so he just waited while they ate. Once Red had finished his first helping, he stood up. “Lizzie, you can keep eating if you wish,” he said, and wiped his mouth on a napkin. “I'm going to go show Donald the garage, and perhaps start some venison thawing for him.”

“Okay.” Liz watched them go, seeming a little anxious, but didn't get up.

“Well, Donald,” said Red, as soon as they were out of the kitchen and walking down the hall toward what must be the garage, “I must say I'm impressed that you found us all the way out here, by yourself. Even with your heightened senses and tracking ability, it must not have been an easy journey.”

Even if he could have spoken in response, Ressler didn't think he would have. It hadn't actually been that memorable, other than the removals of his tracking devices.

Reddington glanced over his shoulder, then continued, “Anyway, though part of me I must admit is almost relieved to be dealing with you in this form rather than in your bulletproof vest with a squad of FBI backup, I'm hopeful that we'll be able to get Cameron to divulge how this was done to you, and also have him reverse the process.”

As the man opened the door at the end of the hallway, stepped aside, and gestured for Ressler to precede him, Ressler wondered how much he and Liz knew about Cameron now. Whether they knew he was working for someone who had wanted super-soldiers. He remembered that conversation between Solomon and Cameron.

There was a quiet intake of breath from Red as he came into the garage behind Ressler. “Now that is very interesting,” he said, flipping on the light. “Has your forced transformation also endowed you with the ability to transmit images from your mind?”

Ressler turned away from his brief survey of the garage to face Red. He barked softly, nodding. Apparently it worked with more than just Liz.

“I don't know that man you just showed me, Donald, but we did know Dr. Cameron was working for the Cabal,” the man went on. “So it's useful to know what a possible player within the Cabal looks like.”

Ressler started. The Cabal? He'd almost led the Cabal right to Liz?

If Reddington had 'heard' any of that thought, he didn't let on. Instead, he turned his attention to the very large chest freezer. “I believe this is what we need.”

Once he'd pulled the lid open, Ressler came to stand next to him. The odor of the venison was dulled by the cold and whatever the individual pieces were wrapped in, but he still found himself salivating. There was enough in here to feed him for close to a week – and it had been too long since the deer Solomon's people had delivered to him.

“As I said to Lizzie, I imagine you'd prefer to eat it thawed,” Reddington said. He pulled out two wrapped steaks, one at a time, and unwrapped them carefully before setting them so that they rested on the paper on the floor. “In the meantime, maybe you'd be interested in some venison jerky? I haven't tried this particular batch, but I had some in Kansas a few years back that was absolutely _sublime_.”

Once again, even if Ressler had been able to speak, he would have only rolled his eyes. But at least that wasn't the start of a huge long story this time; the man just went over to some plastic tubs on a shelf along one of the walls of the garage, and opened it up. “I'll bring it back into the house – unless you'd rather stay out here, of course.”

If he stayed out here, or if he went back inside, someone was going to have to help him open up the jerky. He couldn't do it himself without hands – or maybe he could, but it would be awkward and embarrassing to watch, and he knew Liz at least wouldn't want to sit back and let him. Maybe Reddington would get pleasure out of watching him fumble around, although the man had been surprisingly restrained in his comments so far.

He decided to go back inside. Once they were back in the dining room area, Reddington put the tub of deer jerky on the table, and Liz (who looked to have finished her food) immediately set to work taking each large piece out of the ziplock bags they were in. Red, meanwhile, started to clean up the rest of the breakfast dishes. When Liz had finished with the whole tub, she set it on the ground. “I don't know if you're going to want all of this, Ressler, but, um, I guess feel free.”

It took a little more effort to eat the dried meat, of course, but once Ressler lay down and used his front paws for leverage, he got the hang of it soon enough. And he was, in fact, hungry enough to devour the entire tub's worth in one sitting.

“I fear Agent Ressler is on track to eat us out of house and home,” Reddington said cheerfully, once he'd finished. The comment was ostensibly to Liz, but he said it while seated at the table and looking mostly in Ressler's direction.

Liz just scoffed. “Uh huh. We're not even planning to stay here for long enough to make a dent.”

“Yes, and it's a good thing, too,” the man acknowledged. “Even twenty-four hours would see a significant decline in this house's food stores, at this rate.”

Ressler twitched his ears, but tried not to let Reddington get to him. He might not have been exaggerating that much. Ressler supposed he could have supplemented with hunting, if he had to. But a bigger worry was what the hell he was going to do when they left. He doubted the two of them had factored a huge wolf into their calculations for how they would reach their next destination.

Liz must have gotten at least some of the substance of that thought, because she cleared her throat and said, “What's next on our agenda, anyway? Do we have a location for Cameron? We're still planning to head out this afternoon, I thought.”

“We may need to move sooner than that, actually,” said Red. “It depends to a certain extent on when our transportation arrives, which I hope will be in a few hours.”

Ressler did his best not to look pathetic as he listened to his, but he wasn't going to pretend that he didn't need to know their plans involving him. If they really did think Dr. Cameron could make him human again...

“Now that you're with us, though, Donald,” said Reddington, turning to him, “we will have to consider how best to bring you to Cameron – or bring the doctor to you. It may be that--” He stopped speaking abruptly, his attention drawn to the collar Liz had put on the counter. He picked it up. “Is this the collar you were wearing last night, Donald? A tracking collar?”

Ressler nodded, looking at Liz for a moment and feeling some of his guilt return.

“And did you break off the actual tracking device portion?”

He nodded again, bringing to mind an image of the house where he had left the little box. Both Red and Liz raised their eyebrows. “Interesting,” was Red's response. “What about the subcutaneous tracker? I'm assuming that's what used to be where the dried blood is now, on your shoulder.”

“Oh, damn, I forgot,” said Liz, looking stricken and standing up. “I'm going to go get something to clean you off, Ressler. Keep talking, though – I'll just be in the kitchen for a moment.”

While Liz went into the kitchen, Ressler ducked his head and passed along an image of the road and the cornfield where he had remembered the microchip and removed it. He wished he had taken it out sooner. It was hard for him to judge even sort of accurately how far away he had been at that point, but he knew by waiting until then he had increased the likelihood that the Cabal would widen their search radius enough to find this current location.

“You're hardly to blame for not having been thinking very clearly, Donald,” said Reddington. “Quite honestly, I'm surprised and impressed that you've retained as much of yourself as you have. But unfortunately you are correct that waiting until that part of the journey – if I can match what you showed me with what I know – does put us at increased risk. Not to an emergency level, but increased.”

Liz came back in at that moment, holding a damp towel. “Okay, Ressler,” she said. “Hold still.”

Ressler sat still where he was while his partner cleaned the area around the wound he had created. It had healed quite a bit since yesterday, so the process didn't hurt much. Liz, however, was dismayed. “So you dug a tracking device out of your own shoulder? How big was this thing?”

He tried to assure her it hadn't been that big, but of course with this limited form of communication, all he could show her was how it looked when he'd finished removing it. At that, she grimaced. “God.”

That might not have been the most comforting of images, he acknowledged. But at least it got the message across.

They ended up leaving the house after lunch (Ressler's venison steaks were ready for him to eat by then, and he had eaten another large stack of dried meat as well). Reddington had perhaps made a call to whoever was arranging their transportation to make sure it was suitable; whether he had or not, the vehicle that arrived for them was a delivery-style van similar to the one Solomon's people had used to transport him. The front and back windows were heavily tinted, and there were no side windows. “It's not quite as powerful of a vehicle as a pickup truck, of course,” said Red, “but it should be slightly more comfortable for you, Donald. There'll be enough room, and you shouldn't attract undue attention. And I promise we'll stop often enough to keep you fed and hydrated.”

Ressler wasn't as worried about thirst or hunger as he was about the probability of literally weighing them down on their journey. He was fairly certain the delivery van would carry him, Liz, Reddington, and their belongings, but if they were pursued, it would not be able to accelerate much with him in the back.

“Don't worry, Donald,” said Red with a faint smile. “If it comes down to it, we can always jettison some dead weight.”

Liz, who was walking out from her room into the main room at that moment, shot Red a look. “What was that comment referring to?”

“Oh, good. Are you ready to go?” With that, the man turned and walked toward the front door. “Don't forget to pick up one of these tubs of jerky on your way out, Lizzie. Otherwise we'll have to spend a fortune at every gas station.”

Liz and Ressler looked at each other for a moment. Then she chuckled and shook her head. “I bet he probably thinks he's being pretty restrained about all of this.”

Ressler snorted softly. She was probably right.

~  
The first leg of the journey – which Red had said was to rendezvous with his people who had been looking for Cameron – went without any problems. They drove from the farmhouse out to the nearest highway, and then east for an hour before stopping at a gas station. Ressler opted to stay in the car, though he would have liked to stretch his legs. There were too many other people around. While Reddington (who was wearing jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and a baseball cap – very different from his usual look) filled up the gas tank, Liz came around and filled up the bowl of water in the back of the van for him. “You doing okay?” she asked in a low voice.

He nodded. The drive had been decently comfortable so far.

“You want anything to eat?”

He was a little hungry, but he could wait. When he shook his head, she looked skeptical. “Are you sure? Ressler, you're the size of a-- I don't even know, a tiger or something. You must have to eat a lot.”

He huffed. That was true, but it still wasn't impossible for him to wait. He knew it was going to take a while to get the deer jerky out of its various containers, and he didn't want to cause any delay.

“All right. Next time we stop, then,” she said. “Reddington said it'll be somewhere we can relax a little bit more, and have lunch.”

That sounded good. She smiled at him briefly and shut the door. He crept forward to take a drink from the water bowl, and then lay back down as his two human companions got back into their seats.

Ressler had begun to doze off by the time they pulled off the highway at the exit for a quiet but picturesque town. Reddington informed the rest of the passengers that they would pick up some takeout at a restaurant he knew of, and then take the food to a secluded picnic area.

It was more difficult than Ressler had anticipated to sit quietly in the back of the van while Liz and Reddington went inside the restaurant – and even harder not to start drooling when they brought the food back with them. It smelled amazing. And now he was, officially, very hungry. Again. It was probably a good thing he was facing the rear of the van, he thought with dry amusement. Otherwise he might end up giving Liz (or hell, even Reddington) puppy dog eyes of a literal kind, to beg for that food.

Finally, Reddington parked the van, and the two of them got out. Ressler stood up and waited impatiently at the back doors. As soon as they were open, he jumped out – only to freeze at the sound of a stranger's voice. “Whoa! What the hell – what kind of dog is that?! It's gigantic!”

Cringing inwardly, Ressler made himself look at the man standing next to his car across the parking lot like any dog might look at a stranger at a park: cautious, but not threatening. He kept his tail up and waving faintly.

“Oh, he's quite a mixture,” said Reddington brightly. “And all larger breeds of course, as you can see. Some Irish wolfhound, some Tibetan mastiff, and-- what else, Sarah? Do you remember what the vet said?”

Liz rested a hand on Ressler's neck as she played along. “Wow, uh, let me think. Some husky, too, or Malamute, and I can't remember what all else. He's certainly huge, but _such_ a sweetheart. Very friendly. Unless you give him reason not to be, of course.” She laughed lightly and ruffled his fur a bit. Ressler found he didn't mind that sensation.

The man looked both reassured and hesitant, at this. He had come closer, but stopped a yard away. “Wow. If you say so.” He smiled. “What's his name?”

“This is Rusty,” said Reddington, patting Ressler on the uninjured shoulder. “Say hello to the gentleman, Rusty.”

Resisting the urge to turn and glare at Reddington, or maybe sink his teeth into the man's hand, Ressler instead obligingly barked once. Then he opened his mouth in a pant, letting his tongue hang out.

The other guy laughed. “Nice! He's very well trained! Hello to you, Rusty.”

“We do our best,” Reddington said. “He can be quite stubborn, though.”

“I bet,” said the man. “Does he like road trips? It seems like he'd be, uh, a real handful.”

Laughing, Reddington said, “But can you imagine the bill if we left him at a kennel instead of taking him along? Our big fellow would eat them out of business!”

It was getting to be more of an effort to stay standing there looking as cuddly as he could in this form, when what Ressler really wanted to do was something much more violent. To Reddington. Liz stepped in then. “Speaking of which, we should really get started on lunch,” she said. “We wouldn't want to make Rusty wait.”

“Goodness, no.” Reddington shook his head. “That could end badly. Couldn't it, boy?” He looked down at Ressler, grinning, and patted him again.

Ressler allowed himself to let out a faint whine as he looked from Red to Liz. His tail wagged faster. He really hoped they could end this little charade soon.

“Well, I won't keep you,” said the man. “Although – do you think I could get a picture first, really quick? My daughter loves dogs, and she'd love to see one like Rusty.”

“Oh, I'm so sorry,” said Liz immediately, sounding truly regretful. “That's one thing we haven't been able to, uh, train out of him. He hates phones. And cameras. We've decided he must be very shy.”

Ressler decided he didn't want to stick around to see if this guy believed that story. Instead, he raised his head and pricked up his ears like he'd heard something interesting over in the direction of the picnic tables, barked once, and ran off in that direction. The last thing he heard from the other guy was something about a leash.

It was a relief to be out of the car, able to run for even a short distance, and breathe fresh air. Ressler sat down next to a picnic table under a large tree. No one else was around, thank God.

A minute later, Reddington and Liz came into view, carrying their food as well as the tubs of jerky for him. He didn't bother going to meet them. It wasn't like he could help them set up the meal, and he definitely wasn't going to behave like an excited pet waiting for his food. Reddington had had enough chances to laugh at him already today.

“There you are, Donald,” said Reddington when the two of them arrived at the table. “In case you were wondering, our friend from the parking lot was sorry to see you go, but I don't think he's going to stick around or anything.”

Ressler nodded, relieved.

“He did make sure to tell Lizzie and me what an impressive and handsome dog you are, though,” the man went on blithely, as he set down the various parts of their meal on the table. “You can be sure we told him we agreed.”

“Red,” said Liz sharply.

“Hmm?”

“Drop it already.”

Red pretended not to know what she was talking about … but mercifully, he did stop. And within a few minutes, they were all busy eating.

Ressler's appetite diminished a bit when his two companions updated him on what the Bureau had found at the facility where he had first been changed. He supposed it might be called lucky that Solomon had seen a use in one of the two captured FBI agents, or otherwise he could easily have ended up shot and discarded like Ritter. But instead, he'd been manipulated into working for the enemy. The fact that it had ended up being only for a short duration didn't mean it bothered him any less.

Liz set down her fork and stared at Ressler. “So – what? This Cabal guy would have told Dr. Cameron to go ahead and kill you if you hadn't turned out to be … good at tracking?”

That about summed it up, from what he could recall. He nodded and sighed.

She clenched her jaw. “We need to find out who this guy is,” she declared.

“Agreed,” said Reddington. “Perhaps, now that we know via Donald what the man looks like, we can borrow a sketch artist. Or maybe we'll run into him when we meet up with Cameron.” His tone of voice left little doubt as to what kind of 'meeting' this would be.

~


	4. Chapter 4

~

After they finished eating their picnic lunch, they piled back into the van. Reddington was about to start the vehicle when his phone rang. The voice on the other end sounded like Dembe. Ressler didn't really mean to eavesdrop, but it was sort of impossible not to, with his hearing. From what the other man was saying, they now had a location to meet, apparently where Red's people had tracked some of Cameron's associates. There were no confirmed sightings of the doctor himself yet. These associates, however, wanted to cooperate. Red thanked him and said they were on the way.

As Red repeated what Ressler had just heard to Liz, Ressler tried not to get his hopes up. It sounded like they were closing in on Cameron. And if they found him... He lay down in the van, exhaling heavily. He was tired of being trapped in this form. Here he was, spending time with his partner in a situation where he didn't have to be attempting to arrest her, and he couldn't even talk to her. Talk _with_ her. Ask her if she was really doing okay. Okay, so it was true that if he were human right now, there was no way he would have ended up in a situation like this. But still.

When they arrived at the location, they saw Dembe waiting outside one of the two office buildings on the property. Reddington pulled the van into a parking space in front of Dembe, and then turned to the other occupants of the car. “This meeting is between me and a few of Dr. Cameron's people who, as I said, have apparently decided to turn informer on their old boss,” he told them. “However, I don't have enough personnel available to have adequately cleared the vicinity, or even made certain that these people are sincere. So I'm going to ask you two to wait out here for my signal. If it's safe, I'll call you both in.”

Liz protested immediately. “Red, I'm not going to let you go in there with only Dembe as backup, if it's that dangerous! I can help – we both can!”

Ressler didn't reply. He understood Liz's feelings, but he also totally agreed with Red's goal of keeping Liz as safe as possible. Red glanced at him. “Donald, you and Elizabeth stay alert, in case things go south.”

At this, Ressler nodded and sat up. He was determined that anyone who happened to approach them while they were in this car would be in for a very unpleasant surprise.

“Lizzie, I promise I'll call you to come after us if we need your assistance, or alternately if the situation turns out to be safe,” Reddington said. Liz wasn't satisfied, but to Ressler's relief, she grudgingly agreed to wait.

The two of them (Ressler with his head between the two front seats) watched as Reddington entered the building with Dembe at his side. Liz sighed heavily and leaned back in her seat. “I don't like this.”

Ressler barked softly. It was certainly true that Reddington and Dembe were putting themselves at risk here, from what they knew of the situation, but he knew Dembe would do everything he could to get Reddington to safety if it became necessary. He wasn't too worried. At least not yet.

Several minutes passed. The phone Liz had in her lap didn't ring or chime. Ressler could almost feel Liz's restlessness growing. He wondered what he would do if she decided to get out of the car. Would he grab her shirtsleeve in his teeth? And how long would that actually stop her for?

A second after he thought about this, Liz, whose gaze was still directed toward where Red had gone, reached out her hand and absently buried it in the fur at his neck. Startled, Ressler was about to draw back when she started to stroke her hand along his shoulder. It felt nice. Relaxing. Ressler sighed. Then Liz looked toward him and took her hand away quickly. “Oh. Uh, sorry, Ressler.” She sounded embarrassed.

Ressler blinked. He supposed – yeah, this was an awkward situation. Which was apparently kind of easy for him to forget. On the other hand, he definitely didn't want Liz to start thinking of him as a larger version of her little dog.

“What-- no!” she said at that thought, eyes wide. “No, that's not what I was--”

Just then, he saw a flash of movement at the corner of the other building – the one that Reddington and Dembe had not gone inside. Ears pointed forward, Ressler growled low. He could detect the sounds of multiple people, not very far away inside that building.

“What is it?” Liz asked in a whisper.

Ressler was about to try to formulate an answer with his limited means of communication when a man came around the corner and went toward the front door. At the sight of this guy, Ressler pushed himself further forward through the gap between the front seats, growling louder this time. This was the man who had shocked him twice, before he first changed into the creature he was now. And if this guy was around, chances were...

“This guy was with Cameron when you were changed?” Liz said. At his nod, she narrowed her eyes. “Then we need to get inside that building. Cameron could be there right now.”

It was pretty much impossible for him to disagree. He would not allow the doctor to disappear again, and he would also not leave Liz by herself.

“All right. Then we're agreed.” Liz sent a quick text to Red and got out of the car, shutting the door quietly though the man had gone inside by now. Then she hurried around to open the back doors for Ressler.

They approached the building cautiously. Liz had her weapon drawn, and Ressler was listening hard and keeping as alert as he could. No one else was visible outside either building, and the sounds of movement inside the one they were about to enter weren't as close now.

Even as he was focused on the task at hand, Ressler couldn't help feeling a sharp stab of nostalgia when they got to the door. They were partners again, for the moment. Sure, she was currently a federal fugitive and he was currently a wolf, but here they were, about to enter an unsecured location together just like they used to, in search of a suspect. Watching each other's backs.

With that in mind, Ressler waited until Liz had opened the door (it was a heavy one that would have been difficult for him to open without making a lot of noise), and then very deliberately pushed past her to go inside first. She made a faint sound of protest. Still, she waited until he had made sure by scent and sight in the dimly-lit lobby that there was no one else there, and then came in at his soft bark.

Together, they cleared the first few offices they came across. Then as they were about to go around the corner into another hallway, Ressler stiffened and stopped walking in front of Liz. She collided into him, though not very hard. “Sorry,” she whispered. “What is it?”

He cocked an ear toward the hallway. There were at least three men down the hall from them – possibly more. He didn't know how to communicate that to Liz, though.  
“More than one person, I assume?” Liz guessed.

Ressler nodded.

“A lot more?” At his headshake, Liz pursed her lips for a moment. “Okay. Then we can take them.”

Ressler was a little uneasy about that idea, but on the other hand, they'd come this far. So they rounded the corner together. There was more light in this hallway, which would have suggested more activity even if he hadn't been able to hear the sounds of quiet conversation.

Suddenly a door just a few yards down opened, and a man walked out. It was the guard, the one who had electrocuted Ressler back at Cameron's facility. He was still talking, to someone still in the room. “Once we've contacted the...” Then he trailed off as his eyes traveled to Liz, and then to Ressler. “Holy shit!”

Before the guard could raise his weapon, Ressler snarled and sprang forward. He buried his teeth in the man's hand. With a yell, the man dropped his gun.

The two other men came running out, only to be met with Liz and her raised gun. “Drop them,” she ordered.

At first, they didn't seem like they wanted to cooperate – but when Ressler growled and stepped forward, they did so. Liz gathered up their discarded weapons and removed the clips, ordering all three men to stand together. “Where's Dr. Cameron?” she demanded.

“He's-- he's not here,” said one of the men, the shortest of the three. Then he looked at Ressler and gulped. “He left.”

This was going to go nowhere fast, Ressler decided. They couldn't afford to waste time trying to interrogate these guys. They needed to find Cameron now. Hopefully, he could get Liz to understand that.

He stepped in front of her, baring his teeth again as he glared at the men. Then he glanced at Liz very briefly, while bringing Dr. Cameron to mind.

It took her a second. Then she said, “Right now? You going to be okay here?”

He nodded a little. Now that these thugs were unarmed, he'd be fine even if they decided to try to attack him. In fact, part of him kind of hoped they would. He had yet to really see how well he would do in a more fair fight against humans while he was in this form.

“All right.”

Ressler heard Liz departing. As the sound of her footsteps faded, he noticed that one of the men – the same one who had said Cameron wasn't here – was reaching his hand into his pocket. Instantly, he growled and took a step toward the guy, who jumped and raised his hands.

“So, uh, Carl, what the hell is with the freaking giant wolf?” said the guy who hadn't spoken yet to the man Ressler had bitten. “Not to mention the chick with the gun.”

Cradling his bleeding hand, Carl the former guard swallowed and said, “I don't know who the woman is or why she's traveling with the wolf, but this animal was one of the doctor's test subjects. He seems to remember me, unfortunately.”

At that, Ressler snarled again, ears back and hackles raised, and Carl winced.

“Well, I for one am not really interested in staying here at this thing's mercy,” the other guy said. He clenched his fists. “If we all go at him at once...”

“Are you insane?!” This was the short guy, staring at his companion incredulously. “Have you _seen_ its teeth, and oh yeah – what it did to Carl's hand?”

“So what then? We just stay here until it gets bored and leaves us alone – or until it decides to kill us?”

Carl shook his head. “That's not--”

But before he could finish, Ressler heard the distant sound of the front door opening. He froze and listened. There were people entering the building – more than a few people. This was bad news, unless it was only Reddington and his men. Which seemed unlikely, based on the speed at which they were approaching. He fought off an urge to bark, to at least try to warn Liz what was coming. He didn't want to draw these people's attention any earlier than he had to.

It didn't take long before the three humans heard the sounds as well. They swore and quickly crouched back against the wall.

As the footsteps got closer, there was a sudden shout from further away, and then the sound of gunfire. “Screw this,” said the short guy, giving Ressler one more glance before dashing down the hall in the opposite direction from the sound. Ressler let him go. There were more urgent considerations now – and he was, after all, unarmed. These newcomers would require more focus in how he dealt with them.

~~  
Liz glanced over her shoulder again. Ressler still had the three thugs cornered. She'd gotten a picture from him just moments ago, of Cameron. He was trusting her to be the one who found the doctor. She wasn't as good at tracking as he was in this form, but she could manage it.

Taking a deep breath, Liz pushed through the next set of double doors as quietly as she could. She wished now that she and Ressler had waited for Red. But on the other hand, they were pretty sure Dr. Cameron was here right now – and there was no way she was going to let him slip away without making him do what he could to help Ressler. Besides, there didn't seem to be that many people here.

The first few rooms in this wing had no one in them, though there were signs of a hasty exit. The third room was where she caught a glimpse of a white-coated figure fleeing through another door. “Stop!” she called out, raising her gun. But he was already through the door – which led to another office, it looked like.

Liz ran after him and then stopped to peer in through the inset window in the door. The light was off, but she could see movement. And there was nowhere for the man to run from inside the office.

She stepped inside. “Dr. Cameron. Stop whatever you're doing and come out with your hands raised.”

The man stopped rummaging through the closet and turned around to face her. He had a gun in his hand, but he dropped it before she even asked as he raised his arms.

“You performed genetic experiments on Donald Ressler,” she said, pointing her weapon at him. “You modified his DNA.”

The doctor hesitated, eyeing her gun, and then nodded.

“I need you to tell me if those changes are reversible.” She widened her stance and made her voice not shake. “If it's possible for you to change him back.”

Again, Cameron looked at the barrel of the gun pointed at him. “It's-- it's not quite that simple,” he said. However she reacted to that, it must have alarmed him, because he added quickly, “I'm not saying it can't be done, I just--”

The sound of shouting and gunfire outside the room interrupted them. Liz flinched and backed up so that she could look at both the doctor and the office door. She didn't lower her weapon. “Stay where you are,” she called out to him, loud enough to be heard over the noise. The doctor nodded.

A few seconds later, they both ducked instinctively as the gunfire grew closer, then started to hit the wall outside the office. Liz was sure these walls and the window were not bulletproof. Then just as suddenly as it had started, the shots stopped. Liz stood up from her crouch slowly.

She was just about to check on Dr. Cameron, who had not gotten up, when the door to the office burst open. “Lizzie?” It was Red, with Dembe right behind him.

“I'm here,” she said. She was about to ask him about Ressler when there was a choking sound from the other corner of the room. From Dr. Cameron. “Oh, God!”

She ran to the man's side, the other two not far behind her. He was leaning against the wall and had his hands over a gunshot wound to his right upper abdomen, but the blood was still leaking out. His wet, choking coughs reminded Liz terribly of how Red had looked and sounded, right after he had been shot.

“His lung has been perforated,” Reddington announced with a grimace, as she and Dembe searched for something to stop the bleeding. “If we want answers from him, we'll have to get them quickly.”

“Here, Elizabeth,” said Dembe, handing her a coat from the closet. The two of them pressed it to the doctor's wound. By Dembe's expression, he, too, was remembering their desperate efforts to get Reddington to safety that day.

“Dr. Cameron,” said Liz sharply, as the man's eyes slid shut. “Dr. Cameron! Please, what were you going to say about reversing the changes to Donald Ressler's DNA?”

The doctor groaned and coughed again, and blood trickled out of his mouth. But he opened his eyes. “It's … unstable,” he gasped out.

“What? What is?” Liz asked. The man didn't reply. His face whitened further, and his eyes rolled back. “Dr. Cameron!”

With obvious effort, Cameron's gaze found hers again. “The … mutation. It's unstable. He...” A coughing fit interrupted him this time, and Liz had to move back quickly as this brought up more blood. But the doctor swallowed and went on as soon as he could. “He … should be … able to control the change... Just needs … adrenaline response and … additional stimulus...”

“Okay,” said Liz. “What kind of stimulus?”

Cameron opened his mouth, choked one more time, and then stopped moving. Liz tried to find a pulse, though her hands were slick with his blood. She couldn't find one. “No! No, no, that wasn't enough... God, no!” Maybe that was just because it was hard to feel it with her hands all bloody.

“Lizzie.” Reddington bent down and stopped her motions with one hand, using the other to check at Cameron's throat himself. He sighed. “He's gone.”

Liz shook her head, but sat back onto the floor, her sense of failure strong and getting stronger. It was only then that she noticed Ressler sitting in the doorway of the office. She wondered how long he had been there. “Ressler, are you okay?”

He came further into the office, and she saw blood on his muzzle. She also noticed he was limping a little, favoring his back left leg. But he seemed all right beyond that, and his gaze was on the dead man in front of her. He whined.

“I'm sorry, Ressler,” she said, biting her lip. “He-- he tried to tell me something about how to fix this, but I didn't get all of it before he died.”

“Yes. However, we did get the most important fact,” said Reddington. “He said you should be able to change under your own volition, Donald, due to the inherent instability of the changes to your DNA.”

Ressler sat down and shook his head. From what she could understand of the images in his thoughts just then, Liz gathered that he had tried this before, and it hadn't succeeded.

“He was trying to say something about an additional trigger with an adrenaline response just before he died,” Liz said, shrugging at Ressler's confusion in response to this. “I don't know what he meant, either, but that's what he said.”

A few seconds later, Ressler's ears went forward. But the image he sent this time had Liz gasping in shock and horror. She stood up. “No. We are not _electrocuting_ you to try to trigger a change!”

“This debate, fascinating though it no doubt would be to witness, will have to wait until later,” Red said then. “The authorities – including the rest of your task force, Donald – will be arriving any moment. I suppose you can stay here and wait for them, if you wish, since you're not a fugitive. Aram will probably recognize you for who you are. Of course, he's not a field agent, and the rest of your fellow agents might tend to be on the jumpy side.”

Liz shot Red a glare for what he was implying, while Ressler got to his feet, less graceful than usual. The group left as quickly as possible. Ressler, of course, didn't stay behind.

Red was clearly angry as they all hurried away from the building. He didn't speak, though – not until they were back in the van. (Dembe, she noted, got into a separate vehicle.) “Lizzie, I wish you had waited for me. I understand you felt it was urgent to locate Dr. Cameron as soon as possible, but if you had waited--”

“I know,” Liz cut in, irritated at herself more than she was irritated at his reproach. She wiped her bloodstained hands with a wet wipe from the pack in the glove compartment. It was better than nothing, but she still needed soap and water. “Our combined numbers might have been enough to take out everyone but Cameron, instead of getting him killed.”

Red nodded, and looked just slightly less tense. “Anyway, Dembe and I learned some facts that I believe will be of interest, before we rejoined you and Donald,” he said. “If you'd be so kind as to dial Dembe's number, we can discuss them together.”

“Fine.” Liz used one more wipe from the container, then took out her phone. At least she, Ressler, Reddington, and Dembe had all made it out of this alive. That was no small thing.

~~  
Ressler didn't really listen while Reddington and Liz discussed the events of their conversation with Cameron's people, with Dembe on speaker in the other car chiming in occasionally. They hadn't managed to get Cameron out alive (it was still unknown, who had shot him). Solomon hadn't been there. And plus, the injuries he'd accumulated were starting to make themselves more painfully known now that he was done fighting. He was going to have a lot of bruises – not that anyone could see them under all his fur – and he thought he might have strained his back as well as the leg. It had certainly twinged when he jumped awkwardly into the back of the van, trying not to put too much weight on his leg.

His thoughts kept returning to what he'd heard Dr. Cameron say before he died, and what Liz had reported of what the man said before Ressler arrived. The doctor thought he should be able to change back for himself. But he'd tried that. If all he had to do was focus on his desire to change while he was reacting to something stressful, it should have already worked.

Just in case, Ressler shut his eyes and tried again. Like before, there was a feeling of nausea, but no transformation. Maybe it was for the best at this exact moment, since he guessed he'd have ended up naked in the back of Reddington's van. That was something to keep in mind, if it ever became relevant.

Which it had to. Ressler wasn't sure if he was going to have to subject himself to a cattle prod or something else like that to do it, but he _was_ going to change back. It was going to happen. The other option was too awful to contemplate.

Evidently he was worn out enough from the fight that even these worries about his future weren't enough to keep him awake. He only woke up when the van stopped, and Liz said his name. “Ressler. We're here.”

Ressler opened his eyes, confused for a minute as to where he was. Then he had a moment of panic and shot to his feet, fearing that he had forgotten who he was. But there was Liz, staring at him over the back of her seat with an expression of mild worry. He hadn't forgotten. “Bad dreams?”

His back leg protested his sudden change of position. Ressler sat back down, taking a deep breath as he did so and shaking his head.

“Okay, that's good. I--”

“What Lizzie is trying to say, Donald,” interjected Reddington as he opened his door, “is that we've arrived at our destination for the evening. So since we're not interested in attempting to carry a creature of your current size and weight, and since Elizabeth won't let me leave you to sleep outside in the van, we'd like you to be awake now so you can move yourself.”

Snorting, Ressler waited until Reddington had opened the back doors, and then he jumped out – nearly succeeding in not stumbling at the pain in his leg and back.

But of course both of them noticed anyway. “How badly are you injured, Donald?”

Ressler frowned internally. He didn't know how to answer the question without showing them that moment in the fight. He had landed wrong after springing at one guy, then been knocked roughly off his feet, onto his back. There was probably no way to avoid showing them this.

Red winced, and Liz looked predictably worried. “That could be serious, Ressler,” she said. “We need to have someone take a look at your leg, at least.”

“Ordinarily I would agree without hesitation,” said Red. “However, considering how close behind our enemies could be and how isolated we are at this location, I'm afraid we may have to wait until tomorrow afternoon at least.” He smiled faintly. “But at least you shouldn't have to move much.”

Sighing, Ressler nodded.

“You can lean on me if you need to,” Liz offered.

“Just don't knock her over,” was Reddington's helpful contribution.

Ressler had no intention of risking that. He gave Reddington a look, which the man of course ignored in favor of continuing to talk. “This place doesn't have a nicely stocked meat freezer, I'm afraid, Donald,” he said, as they all walked toward the farmhouse. “However, its owner does have a small flock of sheep which you would be welcome to make use of. I'll explain the missing animals to him later.”

Both Liz and Ressler stared at him as they reached the front porch. Ressler would have asked if Red was serious if he could have – but then he smelled the unmistakable scent of livestock from not too far away, behind the house. And now he was hungry.

“Red,” Liz began, after she must have also reached the conclusion that Red wasn't joking, “Ressler's leg is hurt. He can't exactly hunt right now. Not even domesticated animals.”

“Right – and I just promised you wouldn't have to move much,” said Red. He was silent for a few seconds, as he felt around under the welcome mat and retrieved a key. “Here we go. Well, I suppose either Lizzie or I could kill a couple of animals for you, Donald,” he went on, unlocking the front door. “Though that seems a bit backwards, given the reasons why humanity domesticated wolves in the first place. They were supposed to help _us_ hunt, not the other way around.”

Ressler put his ears back and rolled his eyes. He wasn't too bothered by this comment, actually. He was more bothered by the idea of either Liz or Reddington having to slaughter an animal (or several) for him, and bring them to him. This was just what he hadn't wanted to be: a burden.

Thankfully, it didn't end up being an issue. Though the freezer in the garage was not well-stocked like the previous house's had been, there was enough in it (venison, as well as mutton) that Ressler could eat and be full, for the evening at least. He would deal with the morning when it came.

By the time they had all finished their dinners – electing to thaw the frozen meat in the oven at least partly, so that Ressler wouldn't have to wait so long to eat – Ressler could tell that all of them were tired and ready for some solid rest. For his part, his knee was stiffening up a fair amount. He hoped it wouldn't be too awful to have to walk on it a little bit tomorrow before they got back on the road.

Ressler started out the night, at Liz's suggestion, on the cushions on the floor in front of the couch. There was a fire dying in the fireplace, and not having to jump up onto the couch itself was nice, with how he was feeling at the moment.

He fell asleep quickly and deeply. However, a sound somewhere in the house woke him up during the night. Whatever it was brought him fully awake. He raised his head, listening.

There was silence, except for the wind outside, for several seconds. Then he heard it again: a quiet cry. From Liz's room. It sounded like she was – in pain, maybe? Or scared?

Quickly, Ressler stood up and went into the hallway leading to the bedrooms. His leg was still stiff, but he barely noticed it as he went to stand outside her door. Then he listened again.

She had quieted down, but she was still making soft, distressed sounds. Probably a dream, Ressler realized. He wasn't sure whether to let her sleep, or bring her out of it.

A louder cry decided him. He stood up on his hind legs enough to turn the doorknob, thankful he could manage it without making a lot of clattering sounds, and opened her door. Once he was inside, he pulled it shut behind him.

He must have made enough noise in this process, because the sound of her breathing changed. When he turned around, Liz's eyes were open and she was looking toward him. “Ressler?”

Whining softly, Ressler came closer.

Liz let out a breath. “Hi. Sorry if I woke you.”

He shook his head, not sure how much she could see without any lights on in here. For his part, he could see fine.

A minute of silence passed – not uncomfortable. Then Liz turned on her bedside lamp. “Well, thanks, Ressler. For coming to check on me. That, uh, wasn't a good dream, as you could probably tell.”

He nodded. His tail wagged a few times. Then he turned around, preparing to leave. Now he noticed how his knee was hurting, but at least it wasn't too bad.

Behind him, Liz's sheets rustled. “Wait,” she said, stopping him before he reached the door. When he turned back toward her, she looked embarrassed. She cleared her throat. “Would-- would you mind staying in here for a while? I think I'd be able to go back to sleep if you did.”

Ressler's heart broke a little at her vulnerable expression. There was no shortage of terrible things she could have been dreaming about, he knew. He nodded again and came over to the edge of the bed. He was about to lie down on the carpet when she shifted over to the opposite side of the bed. “I think there should be enough room – if you can jump up here without hurting your leg, that is.”

That, he had not been expecting. But it would be a whole lot more comfortable than the floor, if he could make it up there. And it would help her feel safe. With some effort, Ressler succeeded in getting onto the mattress. It did in fact look like he'd be able to lie down without crowding Liz. She smiled at him, then leaned past him to turn out the light. “Goodnight, Ressler,” she whispered.

Ressler lay down and took a deep breath. It was simultaneously calming and hard to deal with, that he was so surrounded by her scent here. Not to mention how close to her he was. But she was already relaxing back into sleep, he could tell. Maybe he could follow suit.

~


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay! It's been a crazy week. Hope this chapter is worth the wait!

~~  
Liz was walking down the hallway of the office building, looking for Dr. Cameron. He was supposed to be here; she and Ressler had decided to go in to track him down. But she had thought this building was smaller than this. She kept going around corners and seeing yet more hallways, all of them dimly-lit and empty so far. Something was wrong.

Suddenly she heard gunfire from around the next corner. She knew, without being sure how she knew, that Red was in danger. And yet it took her an absurd amount of effort to make it to that next corner. It was like she was running through water. When she finally made it, she saw a shadowy figure running the opposite direction – and Red, lying on the floor gasping as blood welled out of a bullet wound on his chest.

“No!” she screamed, running to him and dropping to her knees. But this time there was no Dembe to help her, nothing to staunch the blood with. He was dying right in front of her, even as she frantically tried to block the flow of blood with her hands. And even though he shouldn't have been able to be conscious at all, he opened his eyes just long enough to look at her with grief and disappointment. This was her fault.

Liz cried out and felt cold despair settle over her as the light in Red's eyes died. She had done this to him. But she hadn't... She hadn't actually shot...?

Looking up from her bloodstained hands, Liz saw to her horror that Reddington wasn't the only dead body lying on the floor now. Meera was there, and Cooper – and Ressler, in his human form, had just staggered into view with both hands over a bleeding bullet wound in his thigh. He collapsed next to the others.

“What-- what happened, Ressler?” Liz tried to ask, though she could barely whisper the question.

Ressler didn't answer her question. He just looked at her with a mixture of scorn and disappointment – much like he had looked at her through the embassy gate. “You could have saved Cameron,” he accused her then, grimacing and clutching his leg. While she looked around, desperate to find something she could use to help him, another man came into view. At first he looked like Tom Connolly, but then he changed to look like the tall, dark-skinned man Ressler had shown her in his thoughts. He came over and took the gun Liz had dropped, and smiled coldly. Then he shot Ressler in the head as Liz screamed.

Then there was a strange sound, very out of place in this horrible scene – and Liz woke up. She took a few moments to orient herself. This was the farmhouse where they'd come after Dr. Cameron's death. She and Red and... She looked over toward where the sound had come from. It was very dark in her room, but she thought she could see a silhouette against her bedroom door. The silhouette of a large wolf. She swallowed and took a deep breath. It was a dream. All of that was a dream. “Ressler?”

A soft whine answered her. The dark shape that was Ressler got a bit closer.

It took Liz a few seconds to figure out why he might be here. But she'd been having a nightmare, and it wouldn't have been the first time she had cried out in her sleep. She apologized for waking him. It was hard to tell in the dark, but she thought he might have shaken his head in response. She smiled a little. Reddington had woken her out of a few nightmares since they'd gone on the run, and he had never allowed her to apologize for waking him, either. Of course, she still wasn't sure Red ever slept more than a few hours a night, anyway.

They were both quiet for a while. Then, as she turned on her bedside lamp, Liz thanked Ressler for checking on her. “That, uh, wasn't a good dream, as you could probably tell.” Even now, the images from it hadn't quite faded, and she shivered.

By the light of the lamp, Liz could see Ressler's gaze focused on her face. He wagged his tail in response to her words. Then he turned as if to leave. “Wait!” she heard herself call out, before she could stop the word from escaping. Somehow the idea of being alone in her room after that dream made her almost as scared as she'd been after a nightmare as a little girl. But at least when she asked Ressler to stay, he didn't seem to be laughing at her fear. Instead, he came over to the bed and, she saw with a pang, got ready to lie down on the floor right there.

His leg was hurt, Liz remembered suddenly – and he'd been standing on it this whole time to offer her comfort. And now he was just expecting to be relegated to the floor for the rest of the night, like he was actually nothing more than an animal? Quickly, she moved over and invited him to use the bed. It was big enough to share, she was pretty sure. The only question remaining for her was whether he could climb up here without hurting himself.

Ressler hesitated for a moment, standing just at the edge of the bed. His ears were back, just slightly. If she could read his facial expression at all in this form, he looked uncertain. But then he put his front paws on the bed and – slowly, carefully – climbed onto it.

As soon as he had lain down, Liz smiled at him. She had a feeling both of them would have a better rest of the night from now on. Letting out a slow breath, she said, “Goodnight, Ressler,” and reached to turn off the light. He didn't make a sound in reply, but she could hear his steady breathing and just vaguely see his outline in the dark. She wasn't alone. That was her last thought as sleep claimed her.

The following morning, Liz opened her eyes to find that, at some point while she was asleep, she had migrated closer to Ressler and thrown an arm over his side. He was facing away from her, and she could feel his side rise and fall under her arm. Her face was also just inches away from the fur covering his back. It was a good thing she had never been allergic to any animal, she thought suddenly, and then was embarrassed by the thought. And now she was embarrassed to have ended up cuddling her former partner, while he was stuck in this form no less, after having begged him not to leave her alone last night.

But if he was awake, Ressler didn't seem to object. So Liz made herself take her arm off him slowly, and roll over partway. She stretched and didn't have to feign a yawn. Then she sat up enough to look at Ressler's face.

His eyes were open. “Hi. Good morning,” she said, clearing her throat. “How long have you been awake?”

He looked back toward her for a second, and sighed. Then he got to his feet, making the bed creak under him, and jumped stiffly onto the floor. He shook himself, stretched, and went for the bedroom door without waiting for her to get up and open it for him. Nor did he look at her again.

“Ressler?” But he had already limped out into the hall. Liz frowned. The very little bit she'd gotten from him before his hasty departure was a sense of mingled frustration and something like despair. She debated trying to follow him, but decided maybe he wanted to be alone for now. The back door slamming shut a few seconds later was another piece of evidence in favor of this conclusion.

Liz still hadn't seen him again by the time she was showered and ready for breakfast. She asked Red if he'd seen Ressler yet that morning, and Red gave her a mildly surprised look over his cup of coffee. “Yes, Donald came by me on his way out the back door about fifteen minutes ago. He didn't seem inclined to chat. I noted, by the way, that he was no longer sleeping in the living room when I came out earlier.” This was accompanied by a raised eyebrow.

She sat down across from him at the little breakfast table, refusing to let herself blush. “I, uh, accidentally woke him up when I had a bad dream last night, so he came to check on me.”

At that, Red's expression softened. “I'm sorry to hear you had another bad dream,” he told her. “But I'm not at all surprised that Donald would do such a thing. And he stayed, afterward?”

“I asked him to.” She stared down at her empty coffee cup.

Reddington was silent for a little while. Then he got up to walk into the kitchen. “Well, that would explain his attitude when he left the house.”

“ _What_ would explain it? What attitude?” Liz gripped the mug more tightly. There were several things she could think of that Red was implying, and she wasn't sure how she would deal with any of them, if they turned out to be true.

“What would you like for breakfast, Lizzie?” Reddington called over his shoulder. She could see him standing at the fridge from her seat. “There are plenty of eggs here, and I believe I saw cold cereal in the pantry if you'd rather go simpler. Personally, I'm leaning towards eggs – and bacon.”

Liz sighed. She thought about pressing for an answer to her questions – but she knew Red would just ignore her attempts. Most likely.

Several minutes later, the back door opened. Red stepped away from the stove instantly, but then relaxed as he peered around from the dining room into the hall. “Ah, Donald, you're back. And – may I take it you won't be needing breakfast prepared for you?”

Liz, who had stood up from her bowl of cereal as well, heard Ressler bark once.

“How many sheep did you take,” Reddington went on, sounding utterly unperturbed, “so I can tell my acquaintance who owns this place?”

Two barks. Liz supposed Reddington must have seen blood on Ressler's muzzle to come to this conclusion in the first place. She wasn't going to go stare at him to confirm, though. If he wanted to see her, he could do so. But at least it had to be a good sign for Ressler's leg, if he had been able to do some hunting.

~~  
Ressler was awakened some hours later by the gradual realization that Liz had shifted closer to him in her sleep. One of her arms was now over him, just below his shoulder, and he could feel her breath on his back. Based on her stillness and the rhythm of her breathing, she was solidly out.

For a few seconds, Ressler smiled to himself. At least his presence had in fact helped her to feel safe enough to sleep. And at least she didn't snore.

But it was impossible for him to fall back to sleep himself, now that he was aware of how close Liz was to him. And that led to other thoughts and realizations – like, for example, how much he had missed sharing a bed with someone. How good it felt. And the many, many reasons why this wasn't a real example of that situation that he'd missed so much.

Merciless, his brain provided those reasons in more detail, though he really didn't need the elaboration: Liz was currently on the run, with notorious criminal Raymond Reddington. She was being pursued by law enforcement, of which he was still (technically at least) a member. She was suspected of murder, terrorism, and treason. He was supposed to be leading the hunt to bring her in. Also, there was the little fact that he wasn't even human right now – and that he had only the vaguest clue as to how to fix that problem.

On top of all that, even if he were human right now and Liz weren't a fugitive, it wasn't like they had even had a real chance to talk, face-to-face, since the day Ressler had let her leave the Post Office. She had fled without even asking him for help. He couldn't deny that had hurt. He didn't think she knew how much.

And then it came crashing over him, so heavily that he had no idea how he hadn't seen it before. Here he was, thinking about Liz. His former partner and close friend. He was thinking about how much he wished there was some way he could really be sharing a bed with her, as his normal human self – to actually hold her in his arms, and be with her, if she wanted the same thing.

In that moment, Ressler wanted nothing more than to spring off the bed and get out of this room, as quickly as possible. He could hardly think of a worse situation for him to be in when he came to the inescapable conclusion that he was in love with Elizabeth Keen. But if he ran now, she would wake up, and probably be worried enough to try to follow him. That didn't seem like it would make him feel better. Besides, he thought grimly, he didn't really have anywhere to run to.

At that moment, Liz made a little sound and moved her arm as if to tighten her grip on him. Ressler sighed. It was still dark outside; there was no reason to expect her to wake up anytime soon. Which left him plenty of time to contemplate the fact that he'd been in love with her for a while now. Looking back, it was pretty obvious. He wondered how obvious it was to his coworkers. To Reddington. He shut his eyes. Even that bastard Tom Keen had seen it. But Ressler himself hadn't let himself see it before now. Maybe that was a special talent of his.

It had to have been at least an hour before Ressler finally heard Liz's breathing change. She didn't move at first. But then she rolled away from him a bit and said good morning. “How long have you been awake?” she asked, sitting up so she could look at his face.

Ressler had no desire at all to attempt to answer this question. Not in this state. He needed to try to snap out of this mood before he spent any longer in his partner's company. Even looking at her right now, still drowsy and sleep-mussed, was just a further reminder of all the things this situation wasn't.

As quickly as he could without actually running, Ressler jumped off the bed (his knee twinged but not too badly), opened the door, and hurried toward the back door. Maybe some fresh air would clear his head. He heard Liz's voice float after him, calling his name, but ignored it.

He had just about reached the back door when another voice stopped him, from the living room. “Donald. Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

Ressler didn't want to wonder if Reddington was trying to imply anything with that question. Ears back, he barely glanced at the man before rearing up to open the door latch. He didn't look back until he was outside, past the back porch, taking in deep breaths of the cool morning air.

It didn't take too long for him to start feeling at least a little better. It was a brisk clear morning, and his leg had only complained a bit on the way out here. That, plus the fact that he was hungry, gave him an idea.

Following his nose as well as his ears, Ressler made his way to the fenced-in pasture, which wasn't far. The wind was in his favor – it hadn't blown his scent to the sheep, so they didn't notice him right away. The fence was easy enough to climb. The flock was gathered at the other side of the pasture area. He started toward them.

Once some of the animals saw him, they panicked, which of course started all of them off. But Ressler was fast. He hadn't really had the opportunity yet to see how fast he could be. Even with the ache in his leg and some lingering pain in his back, it was sheer pleasure to sprint flat-out. In a matter of seconds, he overtook two stragglers and brought them down. The rest of the sheep, bleating, fled as far as the fence allowed them.

It wasn't particularly fun to tear through wool to get to his meal, but Ressler managed it after some trial and error. There was no sign of any humans nearby, so he didn't bother to move his kills before eating. The two sheep were gone quickly.

As he was finishing the second animal, Ressler thought back to earlier this morning. The situation didn't have to be as bleak as he had been painting it – provided, of course, that he was ever able to change back to be himself again. Just because he was in love with Liz, that didn't change the fact that his immediate goal was to bring her in if possible, keep her safe, and help her take down the Cabal. He had very little idea if she felt the same way about him as he did about her, but that didn't have to matter. At least not yet. It wasn't like they would be able to have any kind of relationship until she could stop running, anyway.

Although, he mused, he supposed he could go on the run with her (though he didn't think Reddington would be all that pleased with that idea). But even if she welcomed his company, them being under the constant threat of getting arrested was not the way he wanted to start things. Not if he had a choice.

After he had cleaned his face and paws a decent amount, Ressler got up and stretched. He winced a little at the increased pain in his leg. Okay, so running quite that much probably hadn't been the best idea in the world. But it wasn't stiff anymore, at least. And he was still able to get back over the fence and walk to the house without too much pain.

Upon his return, he smelled the breakfast that Reddington, presumably, was cooking. The man himself met him in the hallway. Liz, he noted, did not come to join them, though he could smell that she was in the next room. He decided not to read into that.

Ressler got in a short post-hunt nap while his two human companions finished breakfast and got ready to leave. Their next destination was somewhere on the way to New York – Red had declined to provide specifics, other than that they were meeting up with another associate of his – and, given that they were currently in the vicinity of Lexington, Kentucky, Ressler guessed this trip was going to take a while.

He honestly wasn't sure if staying with the two fugitives was his best move at this point. They had already brought him into contact with Dr. Cameron, if briefly, so he already knew as much as he was going to know about how he might turn back. He was both a literal and figurative burden for them now, even if neither Red nor Liz had brought it up directly. And he knew the remains of the task force were looking for him. Maybe... He sighed, resting his head on the cushion where he was lying. Maybe he could ask Liz to have Reddington drop him off somewhere on the way, ideally close to DC, and then call Aram or Samar to pick him up. The idea of returning home while still stuck in this form really didn't make him happy. But it just didn't make logical sense for him to keep hanging around while Liz and Reddington continued their travels. He couldn't be much use – other than as a guard dog or a tracker, he supposed. It probably wasn't healthy for him to stay just because of his feelings for Liz, either.

That decided, Ressler stood up when Liz next walked by the room. He barked softly to get her attention, and took a few steps closer.

“Hey. What is it?” Liz asked. “Are you okay?”

Nodding, Ressler thought about Aram and Samar, and then pictured Liz with her phone. Liz took a moment. “You want me to call Aram or Samar?”

He nodded again. This next part was going to be harder to explain this way. He tried to picture a map of the Eastern US. His geography in general was fine, but he didn't have a photographic memory or anything. That would have really come in handy right about now. But he tried to focus on Kentucky, and a path leading by Maryland on the way to New York.

By this point, Reddington had come to stand next to Liz. She looked puzzled. “So the reason you want me to call them has something to do with … the route we're driving to get to New York?” She shrugged and stared at him with a little frown, then asked, “Am I on the right track at least?”

Ressler huffed and gave an uncertain nod. She wasn't _too_ far off, but it still seemed unlikely that he'd be able to get this across.

“Donald,” Reddington chimed in, “are you asking us to call your colleagues for something that has to do with you?”

Relieved, Ressler nodded once more and wagged his tail. Maybe this wouldn't have to be an excruciating game of Twenty Questions after all.

In fact, Reddington and Liz both looked thoughtful. Then Liz's face fell slightly before she schooled it back to a neutral expression. “You want me or Red to call and let them know where you are, is that right?”

At his nod, Reddington said, “We can do that, Donald. I assume you're aware we won't be hanging around to wait for the rest of the team, wherever we all decide is best to drop you off.”

That was not, in fact, a surprise to hear. As much as he might wish he could bring Liz in now that he'd found her, he hadn't been expecting any such opportunity to arise. He'd just have to find her again, once he was back as himself.

“All right,” said Red with a faint smile. “As long as that's understood, and as long as you don't mind waiting a few hours before we decide where you'll be dropped off. Be ready to leave in no more than three minutes.” He left the room.

Liz made no move to follow Red. “Ressler,” she said, picking up one of the couch cushions from the floor and setting it back on the couch to sit down, “are-- are you sure you want to do this? Go back to the Bureau? I mean, I know Aram and Samar know what happened to you, but you'll be subjecting yourself to God knows how many kinds of tests, and being stared at and poked and prodded by a lot of curious scientists, for one thing.”

Sighing, Ressler sat down on the other cushion. It was true; he'd thought about that, and the thought did not make him excited to follow through on this plan. But he couldn't just follow these two around like a loyal pet, either. In some ways, that was just as distasteful.

Whatever she'd gotten of those thoughts, it seemed to be enough. She gave him a sad smile. “Okay. I guess I can understand that.”

The trip began smoothly enough. Reddington told Liz and Ressler that where they were stopping for lunch would be somewhere that meant they didn't have to bring food for Ressler or worry about buying enough for him. Despite Liz's request for more details, the man just gave them both one of his irritatingly smug smiles and said they would see soon enough. He did, however, inform them that Dembe's vehicle would be rendezvousing with them shortly.

Once they were well on the way, Ressler found his thoughts going back to the picture Liz had painted of what his return to the FBI would be like. Of course, he could hope it wouldn't be too long before he was able to get back to his human form – but there was no guarantee of that. In fact, there was a worst-case scenario that he really didn't want to dwell on.

Before he could spend too much time thinking about trying _not_ to think about what it would be like to be trapped in this form for the rest of his life, Ressler's attention was caught by a car behind them. He could just see it from his angle through the tinted back windows. It was in the distance, but approaching fast. The road they were on was mostly deserted, and had been for a while now. But this car... He sat up, ignoring the faint twinge in his back. There was more than one. He barked.

It didn't take long at all for Reddington and Liz to figure out what the problem was. They informed Dembe, whose car was in fact in front of them, and the van started to move faster. Of course, as Ressler had worried before their first trip together, it wasn't easy for their vehicle to accelerate with any promptness. Not with a gigantic wolf weighing them down. They weren't going to be able to outrun these people.

Ressler turned his head around and met Liz's eyes. He wasn't sure who it was who was chasing them right now, but he did know she'd have a much better chance of getting out of here if they let him out. He pawed at the back door and barked again.

“Not a chance,” said Liz with a glare. “Besides, Dembe's got us covered.” She nodded toward the back, and Ressler both heard and saw Dembe's car moving into position behind them.

Ressler huffed in frustration. He tried to concentrate on that rather than the fear. Their slowness was his fault, but they weren't going to let him do anything about it. And this door lock wasn't one he was going to be able to open himself.

Suddenly, to his surprise, yet more cars appeared in their rearview: black SUVs with flashing lights, and cop cars as well. The Bureau had found them – maybe just in time. When Liz saw them, she swore. “Red,” she called.

“I see them,” he said grimly.

After that, things started to happen very quickly. The FBI SUVs tried to move in on the Cabal vehicles (it was just a guess, who the others were, but it seemed logical), but the other cars refused to give ground. Then shots were fired – at the FBI, and at the van Ressler, Liz, and Reddington were in. One of the back windows shattered, raining glass down around him. They were probably firing at Dembe's car as well, he thought, though he couldn't spare a moment to look and be sure. Based on the sound, though, Dembe returned fire. Then the van veered back and forth, knocking Ressler off his feet. He dug his claws into the upholstery. His injured leg had reacted strongly to the sudden blow. At least he wouldn't be sliding back and forth like he had in the cage, so maybe that wouldn't happen a lot more. But it still meant he couldn't even hope to do anything useful – though he didn't even know what that might be.

Only a few more minutes passed before Liz let out a frightened shout and then something collided with the left rear corner of the van. The impact sent the van careening off the road. To Ressler's vague surprise, as he tried to maintain his grip on the upholstery, the van didn't flip over even once it left the road. But then there was a sharper jolt and Ressler felt himself fly through the air a short distance before hitting something solid. Dazed, he tried to find something, anything to hold onto while the van slid a few more feet. He didn't think he succeeded.

~


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's Samar, finally.
> 
>  
> 
> (Also, a disclaimer: while some of the talk of genetic engineering in this chapter is based on actual science that I read about, I'm no genetic engineer - shocking, I know! - so most of it is just my attempt to provide a reasonably believable explanation.)

~

When the van stopped moving, the first thing Ressler noticed – with relief – was that he hadn't been thrown on top of either of the humans inside with him. He blinked and tried to clear his vision. The van was on its right side. He could hear both Liz and Red breathing, still buckled into their seats. They were alive, at least. Whether they were conscious was another question.

There were shouts from outside the van, and then an exchange of weapons fire, not at all far away. Ressler crouched down against the side of the van. He hoped no stray bullets came this way.

A few seconds later, just as Reddington was starting to stir, a familiar female voice very close by said, “Secure the van, and call an ambulance if you haven't already.” Samar. Ressler sighed in some relief. It wasn't the Cabal.

“Yes, ma'am,” another voice said. Then there was the sound of a number of pairs of feet moving to surround them. He saw a few blurred human shapes through the cracked windshield, as well.

There was a brief metal-on-metal sound, and then the back door opened. Ressler stayed mostly still, though he did raise his head a bit. The agents at the opening all gasped and stepped back. Most of them raised their weapons. “Ma'am,” one of them called over his shoulder, “you're going to want to see this.”

Samar came into view. She stopped and took in a breath at the sight of Ressler, as well, but didn't point her gun at him. “Well,” she said, “I guess they found Agent Ressler. Or he found them.”

“Ma'am?” the same guy said, sounding bewildered.

“You didn't read the file on Dr. Cameron's research and experiments?” she said. “This is what he did to Agent Ritter – altered his DNA and made him into something very much like this. So it stands to reason this is Agent Ressler.”

Ressler nodded, even more relieved, and barked once. At least Samar really did know what was going on, and she was evidently in charge. He wasn't going to just be tranquilized and sent off to a zoo. And she would do her best to see that Reddington and Liz were treated fairly, as well.

Samar raised her eyebrows at Ressler's response. “Ressler?”

He barked and nodded once more.

Samar looked at the other agent who had spoken. Ressler thought his name might be Michaels. “Okay. I'm going to try something,” she said. “No one fire. Agent Ressler, if you can understand me, stand up slowly and come out of the van.”

Ressler did so. Though there was some astonished murmuring as he came more into their view, none of the agents moved toward him aggressively. Behind him, he could hear Liz and Red being seen to. It sounded like Liz was still unconscious, and Red wasn't fighting. He wondered what had happened to Dembe.

“Well, I have to admit,” said Samar, after the two fugitives were loaded into a very secure ambulance, “I didn't expect to find you here like this, Ressler. We're going to have to be creative to find a way to take you back to the field office.”

Ressler just nodded slightly. He was trying not to be nervous about being separated from Liz, but it was difficult. If she ended up at a hospital, he had no doubt she would be at risk from Cabal operatives. Like the ones who had run them off the road. He stared at the ambulance.

“They're going to be under heavy guard,” Samar said, seeing the direction of his gaze. “Both to keep them where we want them, and to keep them safe.”

That was better than nothing, he supposed. Then he took a step to follow Samar and stumbled. His various aches and pains had, oddly enough, not been improved by the crash.

“Ressler? Are you injured?” Samar reached out a hand but stopped, uncertain.

He nodded again, sitting down. Maybe he needed a trip to the hospital, as well. He preferred that idea over a vet.

Samar exhaled. “Then I guess you'll be joining Liz and Reddington at the hospital, after all. Let me just update Aram first.”

The drive to the hospital, thankfully, was not too long or too uncomfortable. Samar had her men fold down the back seats of one of the SUVs, and Ressler clambered into it, gritting his teeth at the pain the motion caused. But the whole convoy made it to the hospital in Charleston, West Virginia without trouble. That wasn't counting the suspicious/fearful/pitying looks Ressler got from some of his fellow agents. He could handle those, though.

A confused doctor at the hospital gave Ressler an x-ray after they arrived, and after Samar had given her a highly abbreviated explanation. The x-ray revealed no serious damage, though the ligament in his left knee was strained. Dr. Thompson gave him an injection of an anti-inflammatory pain reliever. She wasn't sure whether any brace they had available would fit, however. “I could, um, call my friend at the local vet,” she suggested, “but I'm guessing they also don't normally deal with … patients of this size.”

Samar exchanged glances with Ressler, who was lying on some cushions on the floor. “Why don't you see what your friend recommends, anyway?” she said. “Without giving too many details, if possible.”

“I'll do my best,” said the doctor. “You can feel free to wait here, if you'd like. I'll make sure no one disturbs you.”

Ressler sighed and laid his head down on his front paws. Samar wasn't leaving. It was nice of her to stay with him, he thought. Nice, and also strategic, since it seemed unlikely that any of the other agents would grasp the situation as well as she did.

“So, you found our fugitives,” Samar said, after a moment of silence. She sat down against the wall next to him. “I wish I could ask you – and them, for that matter – what that meeting was like.”

She would be able to ask them eventually, Ressler thought. Whether he'd ever be able to speak a recognizable human language again remained an open question.

“Do you know what happened to Dr. Cameron?” she asked.

Ressler nodded. Deciding he might as well try this with her, he brought to mind the image of Liz frantically trying to question the man and stem the flow of his blood as he died. Samar jerked away and her eyes widened. “Did you just--?”

Nodding again, Ressler gave her a little smile.

Samar shook her head. “All right. Sure. If humans can be transformed into animals, why can't they then communicate telepathically? Or whatever that was.”

He would have laughed if he could have.

“So, Cameron was shot. Did Liz shoot him?”

At that, Ressler couldn't hold back a little growl as he shook his head. His friend looked amused and said, “All right, I'm sorry. A simple headshake would have sufficed.”

He looked away, embarrassed. Damn, he was tired. And sore. And worried.

“Do you know who did shoot him?” Samar pressed on.

Ressler cocked his head at her, and thought of the interrogation room at the Post Office. For a second, she looked lost. Then it was her turn to shake her head. “No, I'm not interrogating you, Ressler,” she said gently. “Just trying to find out what's going on, as best I can.”

He was about to answer her question then when he heard it: gunfire. Distant, but getting closer. Instantly, he was on his feet, despite the pain in his knee. He barked and went for the door.

“What--” Samar started to ask, before an alarm started to sound. She swore and readied her weapon. Then, as the alarm was cut off just as suddenly, she took out her radio and tried to reach some people whose names were not familiar to Ressler. There was no response. “They're supposed to be watching Reddington and Liz,” she informed Ressler tersely.

Ressler pushed open the door, trying not to let his fear and dismay overwhelm him. This was just about the worst possible situation he could imagine. It had to be the Cabal – maybe led by Mr. Solomon, since he hadn't been at the crash site as far as Ressler knew.

At least he didn't have to try to tell Samar they needed to get to Liz's and Reddington's hospital rooms; she said as much in a low voice as they entered the hallway. They didn't encounter any resistance on the way – though they did encounter some terrified hospital staff and patients. These people were not exactly reassured by the sight of a giant wolf and an FBI agent with her gun at the ready. But at least Samar did manage to calm most of them enough to keep them from screaming and alerting their enemies too far in advance.

Not that it ended up mattering. As soon as they rounded the last corner and saw the dead agents outside the large room that contained both Liz and Red, Ressler knew he was going to have a hard time waiting for Samar's signal. And when he heard Liz's scream from inside, there was no chance he was going to wait, even though Samar called out for him to stop.

Ressler barreled through the door to the room, crashing into one of the men inside and then taking him down using his teeth and claws without hesitation. He tore out the throats of two others before the fourth guy held onto him long enough for Mr. Solomon to jam a needle into his back. He howled and tried to maintain his grip on the man, but felt himself going numb.

“Donald,” said Mr. Solomon, breathing heavily. “Good to see you again. You're just in time to be useful.”

He was losing feeling in his whole body, and sinking to the floor, but he could still see that Solomon's thugs had uncuffed Liz from her hospital bed and were holding her at knifepoint. They had left Reddington cuffed to his, and his lip was split and bleeding. His expression was full of fear and rage, much more blatant than he ever usually let show. Ressler had a terrible feeling he knew what was coming next.

“Maybe your former partner will provide you with the right motivation to answer my question, Miss Keen,” Solomon said to Liz. He nodded to one of his remaining men, who walked over and pointed a gun down at Ressler. The safety was off. “Before you die, I want to know how much you know about our operations. Start talking, or we'll put this animal down.”

“No!” Liz struggled wildly, heedless of the knife at her throat. Somehow she managed to twist free for a moment, but now she was bleeding, too. And she was cornered. Ressler didn't know where Samar was – he couldn't turn his head to see if she had been captured or even killed at the entrance to the room – but it was pretty clear she wasn't going to be able to help here. Or at least not in time.

Ressler stared at the gun pointed at his head, and then at Solomon. If he could move, if he had the element of surprise, he knew he could force this guy to point the weapon at Solomon and fire. But he was paralyzed. Liz had been recaptured. This could not be allowed to happen.

He felt white-hot rage and fear building inside him. He could use that. Maybe … maybe this situation was just what he needed to... There was heat spreading under his skin, making the numbness fade in its wake. And now he felt the changes begin.

All eyes were on Liz and Solomon. As soon as he could move, Ressler seized the moment, springing to his feet, grabbing the gun out of the shocked henchman's hand, and shooting both of the guys holding Liz. Then he shot the henchman who'd been aiming at him. That was when he ran out of ammo. It was also the moment when his injured knee became impossible to ignore. He staggered and barely caught himself against the wall. As a furious Solomon drew his weapon, Ressler tried not to collapse or be too distracted by his total lack of clothing – as well as the taste of blood in his mouth.

“Well, I did not see that coming, I'll admit,” said Solomon, who was now the only living and uninjured person in the room. “Congratulations, Donald. You get to die as a human.”

Ressler panted and dropped the now-useless gun. Just as he was closing his eyes and wishing he didn't have to hear Liz's choked cry of despair, the shot came. But it wasn't from Solomon, and it didn't strike Ressler. In fact, the man yelled and crumpled to the ground in front of Ressler, clutching his shoulder.

Ressler looked at Samar standing in the doorway. He sighed in relief, and then staggered again, his vision blurring. He felt nauseated – and to his horror, when he looked through his blurred vision at his hand against the wall, he thought he could see reddish-brown hair sprouting to cover it again. “No,” he gasped, and fell the rest of the way to the ground. He barely noticed the impact, though. He was too busy concentrating as hard as he could on maintaining his human form. He wouldn't let himself change back. He _wouldn't._

Everything else faded into the background for a while, as he fought against the nausea and accompanying feeling of instability – like he could lose his hold on himself at any moment. He was aware of movement around him, and loud voices, and the fact that someone had covered him with something so he wasn't lying on the floor naked. That was good. But he had to stay focused. He couldn't even take a moment to process the sight of Liz and Reddington leaving the room, leaning on each other, Liz staring at him in obvious concern as she departed.

Finally, some time later, he realized Samar was kneeling next to him, trying to get his attention. “Ressler? Can you hear me?”

He blinked and brought her face into focus. “Yeah.” The word was kind of a grunt, but at least he had succeeded in speaking. And he was still holding the transformation at bay.

“Good.” She gave him a small smile. “Now, it's obvious that you're in distress of some kind, but I need to know more if I'm going to be able to help you.”

“Don't think you can,” he said, after a moment. He shut his eyes for a few seconds and fought off another wave of nausea. “I-- It's like I … like I might change again, at any minute.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Ah. Then I suppose the best way to help you would be to get you to the scientists who might have a better understanding of the underlying issues here.”

He stared at her. “Are there any?” Cameron was dead.

“We've had the Bureau's top genetic specialists combing over everything we recovered from Cameron's labs,” she said, and then shrugged ruefully. “They may not be enough, but whatever they can do has to be better than nothing, right?”

“Guess so.” To say that he wasn't looking forward to being poked and prodded and studied, even while human, was an understatement, but he didn't have anything in the way of better options.

He stayed a little more aware as things started to be put into motion, but only a little. It still required most of his effort not to give in to the transformation he knew was just waiting for him to let his guard down. But he did ask Samar, as she was overseeing the process of him being loaded onto a stretcher, what had happened with Keen and Reddington.

Samar sighed. “They're gone. Reddington had a backup plan, of course, though I'm sure he would have preferred his team to arrive sooner than they did. There were too many of them for how many of us were left.”

Ressler nodded. That made sense. Still, part of him wished...

After he held off the bizarre, disquieting feeling that he wasn't in control of his own self for another while, he opened his eyes again. His stretcher was being carried down a hallway, still inside the hospital. There was something else crucial he needed to know. “Samar,” he called out. She wasn't one of the people carrying his stretcher.

The woman came into view quickly. “Yes?”

“Where-- where am I being taken?”

“We've got a helicopter ready to take you and the rest of us back to DC,” she answered. “Since we have this Solomon character in our custody, there's no way I'm letting him out of sight until we have him contained. And that's where our specialists are, for you.”

Ressler bit his lip for a moment. Then he met her gaze squarely. “I don't know if I'm going to be able to hold this off until we get there.” He was already exhausted, and each wave of this that he fought off only left him more drained. Almost two hours of traveling was going to be hellish.

She swallowed. “What does that mean? Are you going to--” She glanced at the men moving the stretcher. “Are you going to end up like you were before?”

“It means I might,” he said, letting out a breath. “I'll try to hold it off as long as I can, though.”

“You'll _try_?” Samar repeated, frowning.

“That's all I can promise,” he told her. “I'm highly motivated. I don't want to turn back. But if I do, you've seen what I look like.”

“You'll need space around you, among other things,” she said. Then she sighed. “Very well. We'll see what we can do.”

He thanked her. It was far from ideal, but the warning was the best he could manage.

As he was loaded into the back of the chopper, Ressler took a deep breath, doing his best to savor the sensations of being back in his human body even as he continued to concentrate on staying this way. In case he lost this again, he wanted to remember everything, even the little things.

Just as he had expected, Ressler found it harder and harder to hold onto human form as the journey went on. He knew he was slipping now and then; sometimes he felt fur starting to spread over his arms or legs, and once or twice he started to increase in size rapidly before he scraped together enough concentration and energy to halt and reverse the process. Most likely those who were with him on the chopper noticed these moments and reacted, but he couldn't spare the focus to notice what they did, if so. The one exception was when he felt someone hold onto his left arm. That person, whoever it was, bent down and shouted (a necessity, because of the noise of the rotors), “I'm going to start an IV for you, sir. Just fluids and electrolytes to keep your energy up.”

Ressler tried and almost succeeded at replying. Still, he figured letting this person put the needle into the crook of his arm was a sign he had heard and understood. He just hoped the next time he almost transformed, he wouldn't dislodge it.

It seemed like an eternity before the helicopter finally landed, and he noticed as his stretcher was carried away from it. By this point, he was so tired that he felt completely wrung out. If he were asked to get off the stretcher under his own power, he knew he would slide directly to the floor in a heap. He also had a killer headache, which didn't help anything.

He was threatening to grow fur again. Or just grow. Either way, he still had to stop it. Ressler, eyes shut, took a ragged breath and dug down deep for the last traces of his energy. It took longer than it had been taking, but he brought himself back under control eventually.

Dimly, he noticed that the stretcher had stopped but that he was being moved. There were people talking around him. He felt the IV needle in his arm move slightly, but it wasn't removed and it didn't really hurt. Then, a little later, the nearly constant sensation of impending transformation started to fade. Ressler sighed. His last thought before sleep claimed him was relief to finally be able to relax.

~  
When he woke up, Ressler found himself in another hospital bed, in another sterile-looking environment. He had a moment of panic as memory started to return – but when he looked down at himself, there was no fur or any other signs of his wolf form. He was also not strapped in, as he thought he had been at Dr. Cameron's facility. There was an IV in the crook of his left arm, and electrodes attached to his chest. A heart monitor. And he was wearing a hospital gown.

“Oh, hey, Agent Ressler? Are you awake?” came a familiar voice, and then Dr. Maynard came into view through the curtain dividers around his bed. “You are! Hi. How are you feeling?”

Ressler blinked. He still felt a little underlying nausea, not to mention fatigue, but there was no feeling like he might lose his human form at any moment. “Uh, okay, I guess,” he replied. “How am I doing?”

The doctor, who Ressler hadn't seen since that case with the ghost brides, smiled. “Pretty well, actually, especially considering how you were when you got here.”

He raised his eyebrows. “And how was I doing when I got here?”

“Well,” said Dr. Maynard, picking up the chart from the foot of Ressler's bed and glancing through it, “on top of the knee injury, you were dealing with the effects of severe destabilization of your genetic code – which is to say, not really dealing with it because no one is supposed to have to face that problem, but you were doing the best you could. The two main strains of DNA that existed in your body – your own, and the strain from the hybrid animal that Dr. Cameron introduced into you – were sort of … fighting each other. You could look at it like that, anyway.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Ressler looked down at himself again. He still appeared reassuringly normal. But he definitely remembered how exhausting it had been to struggle against the change the whole way here. “So how did you fix it?”

The young guy took a breath. “Sadly, we haven't been able to completely eliminate the foreign DNA. However Dr. Cameron introduced it into your cells, he was really, extremely thorough. But on the positive side, the gene therapy treatment you've been getting since as soon as possible after your arrival – which was about five hours ago, by the way, in case you're wondering – seems to be reducing it at a nice, effective rate.”

“Gene therapy, huh?” He'd read about that, a little bit, back when Reddington had first introduced Dr. Cameron to the task force. “Like, viruses that transfer the right kind of DNA into my cells? That kind of thing?”

“That's right,” said Dr. Maynard with another smile. “And even better, since it's your DNA that came from you to begin with, your immune system hasn't show any signs of rejecting it.”

Ressler snorted. “I'd hope not.” Then he cleared his throat and said, “But it's not a cure, though.”

Maynard's smile dimmed. “I'm sorry, Agent Ressler. No. Or at least, not yet. But our hope and our goal is that with further study we'll be able to reverse the mechanism that caused the initial changes.” He set down the chart. “And in the meantime, with regular treatments, you'll at very least never end up in a situation like you were in when you got here.”

He took a moment to absorb this. “Okay,” he said with a nod. “Thanks. I can live with that.”

“Don't thank me quite yet,” said the doctor, looking nervous all of a sudden. “I, uh, have something to ask from you. On behalf of me and the rest of us here.”

“Oh? And what's that?” He had an idea about what might be coming. These people were scientists, after all.

Clearing his throat, Dr. Maynard said, “We'd, uh, we'd like to do more research. I mean, more than just what's required to come up with a cure.”

“You mean more research on me.”

“Yes.” He coughed and then went on, eyes bright with excitement. “We've never seen anything like this. There was just a hint of it when you got here, but from what Agent Navabi and some of the other agents said, the full change that you're capable of is very dramatic. Total, except you retain your memories, the ability to understand human speech, reasoning, things like that. So--”

“I'm not going to try to change into the wolf for you,” Ressler interrupted, just barely keeping his temper. “I don't really know how to control the change – not well enough that I'm willing to risk it, anyway.”

“No, that's-- that's fine,” Maynard said quickly, although Ressler thought he saw a flash of disappointment cross his face. “We understand that. Just … if you do happen to change at any point, we'd like to take a few samples, run a few tests, and compare the results to your results when you're, uh, human. Yourself, I mean.”

Ressler sighed. If he did ever transform again, he'd probably want to come back here to get checked out just in case, anyway. “Fine. Yeah. I'm fine with that.”

“Really?” The doctor beamed. “Great!” Then he cleared his throat again, looking more calm as he asked, “Do you have any other questions for me? Otherwise I can let you rest.”

Ressler was about to shake his head when a few unpleasant thoughts occurred to him, also from what he had read those several months ago. “Yes, actually. First of all, this … condition, it isn't contagious, is it?”

“No,” Maynard assured him. “The mutation was developed specifically for you, your DNA.”

“Okay. Good.” He licked his lips, trying to figure out how best to ask his next question. “But am I correct that, uh, there's a type of gene therapy that only affects the individual who has it done to them, and there's another type that can pass on the changes to … any future generations?”

“That's right, essentially,” said Maynard. “If the changes are made to somatic cells and not germ cells, they'll only affect the individual. But changes to the germ cells mean that the modifications can be inherited.”

Ressler nodded. He had thought he'd recalled as much from his reading. When he'd looked at it back then, it had only been an academic question with some disturbing implications – whether living things could be permanently changed by gene therapy. But now... “So, um, what about the modifications to my DNA? Which, which kind is it for me?” He had a bad feeling about the answer.

Dr. Maynard blinked. “I'm so sorry, Agent Ressler. We hadn't thought to test that yet.”

“And I'm guessing I know what you need me to do in order to test that.”

The young doctor nodded and shrugged. “Well, unless you want us to use a needle, instead.”

“That would be a no.” Ressler sighed again. He had already had enough awkward interactions and been in enough awkward situations in the past several days to last him for the rest of his life. But this was something he needed to know. So he would do it without complaining.

He ended up staying for another hour to get this final test done, as well as finish the gene therapy treatment. There were no adverse side effects from the treatment, and even the lingering nausea he had noticed upon waking up faded by the end of the hour.

The news from the last test, however, was not good. As Ressler had suspected, Dr. Cameron had evidently wanted his test subjects to be able to pass on the changes he made to them. So Ressler's 'condition' was heritable. He could not imagine knowingly passing this on to any kid he might have in the future – so that meant, unless Dr. Maynard and his team were able to come up with a cure, that was the end of the idea of his having children. Which was not something he was just going to be able to move on from easily. Thankfully, the technician who had brought him these results left him alone to begin to deal with this in peace. He needed the solitude.

Despite this shock, he was thankful that someone had brought him some of his own clothes to wear. It was kind of novel, to be wearing clothes at all for the first time in several days. His cell phone was even there with the rest of his things. It felt inexpressibly good to get dressed and walk out of the laboratory area on his own two legs, even though he was supposed to wear the knee brace Dr. Maynard had given him for at least a month. He was very much looking forward to a shower and a shave at home, maybe some dinner. And then collapsing into bed for the night. All of these simple, everyday tasks were newly worthy of anticipation, now that he once again had hands and fingers that he could use to do them. He didn't really mind the reduction in his sense of smell or hearing that came in exchange.

Just as he was about to step out the front door, his phone rang. The number was unfamiliar, but he answered it. “Donald Ressler.”

There was an intake of breath on the line. “Ressler. It's so good to hear your actual voice.”

“Liz?” Ressler glanced around. There was no one in earshot, other than maybe Samar who was standing outside the glass front doors. He kept his voice low anyway. “Are you all right? I-- I didn't really see what was going on when you and Reddington left, but I know you got hurt, before.”

“I'm fine,” she said. “Nothing a bandage and a few days won't heal. Reddington's fine, too. But you – you're back!”

“Yeah, and I'm planning to stay that way.” He took a breath and reminded himself of their current positions relative to each other. “Look, Liz, I didn't get to thank you before for … for taking me in, I guess, and tracking down Cameron. So I want to thank you right now.”

She was smiling when she answered. He could hear it in her voice. “You're welcome, Ressler. I'm glad we could help you. I just wish we could have done more.”

"It's all right." Clearing his throat, he went on, “But you know I have to ask: where are you?”

“On the trail of the next player on Red's list,” she said. “I'm not sure yet if we'll be asking for the Bureau's help this time.”

Ressler rubbed the hand that wasn't holding his phone over his face, feeling a few days' worth of stubble against his palm. She was so matter-of-fact about it. Like this was her only possible course of action. “Liz--”

“I have to go,” she cut in. Her voice softened. “I'm really glad you were able to change back, and that you're okay.”

Ressler shut his eyes for a moment as the call ended. Spending time with his partner (his ex-partner, he told himself for the dozenth time) for several days, even in wolf form, was enough to make him miss her even more now. And on top of what he had just learned about his future... He shook his head. There was no point in dwelling on that right now. No point in grieving over something that might not have ever happened, anyway.

Samar greeted him with a smile when he walked outside. “It's good to see you walking upright, if you don't mind me saying so.”

“No, I don't,” he said wryly. “It's good to be doing it.”

“Who was that on the phone?” she asked, as the two of them walked to her car.

Ressler sighed. He didn't see a reason to hide it. “Keen. She was … checking up on me, I guess. Didn't give me anything useful before she hung up.”

Samar didn't reply, though the understanding look that passed across her face wasn't one that Ressler wanted to think about too much. Instead, once they got into the car, she said, “I'm taking you to your apartment for the night, obviously, but I do have a question about work I'd like to ask you first.”

“Go for it,” said Ressler.

“We have this Solomon guy in holding, under heavy guard,” she said. “He hasn't been questioned yet, since he's still recovering from surgery. You need to be debriefed, too, but I was wondering if you wanted to be in charge of Solomon's interrogation or not.”

He gripped the car's armrest. He had never faced the man when he himself was in the position of power. The idea of doing so was appealing. On the other hand, he wasn't sure how well he could stand up to the reminders Solomon would no doubt give of just how easily he had manipulated his captive wolf. “I … I don't think I'd be the best person to question him,” he said to Samar, feeling like he was giving up as he did so. “Not soon, anyway.”

But Samar wasn't scornful at all at his answer. “That's fine. I'll handle it, then. But perhaps there are things I should know before I go in the room with him?”

“Yeah, probably.” Ressler stared out the windshield. “He was the one who organized my transfer from Dr. Cameron's facility. He wanted to use me, use my tracking ability. I wasn't...” He swallowed. “Right after I was transformed, I wasn't … thinking very clearly. So it was pretty easy for him to get me to do what he wanted. Or sort of, anyway.”

“What do you mean?” she asked gently.

“He was looking for Liz. He had some of her things.” Ressler suddenly felt nauseated again, for a very different reason. His face was hot. “When he gave them to me so I could get the scent, all I knew was that I was looking for her, too.”

He heard her take a slow breath. “Ah. And so you tracked her.”

“I did.” He scratched his neck, remembering the collar and the chip in his shoulder. “And he tracked me in turn, for a while at least.”

“Until...?”

“Until I got rid of the tracking devices.” He scoffed and shook his head. “At least I still had enough rational thought to know Solomon following me was not a good idea.”

They were almost at his apartment now. Ressler felt exhausted again, though not quite as much as he had on the way back to DC.

“Well,” said Samar after a minute of silence, “thank you for telling me that. It will no doubt be useful for when I question Solomon, though I can imagine it must be difficult to purposefully relive those events. Maybe, if you're all right with it, you can watch the interrogation and let me know if anything else occurs to you that I should know.”

Ressler nodded. “All right.”

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm still not sure whether I'm going to continue this story or not, or make another series. This is a bit of a bleak ending, but I think it also works all right as a conclusion to this particular chapter, at least.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So as it turns out, I have enough cohesive ideas for more! Here's another chapter, and many thanks to all who left encouraging comments on the last chapter. :) Enjoy!
> 
> This part brings us almost up to where the fall finale left off, timeline-wise.

~~

“How is Donald doing?”

Liz jumped slightly, turning around to see Reddington just a foot away from her. His expression was as deceptively innocuous as his question, but she could sense his disapproval. Still, that didn't mean he didn't also want to know her answer. “Well, I spoke to him, and he actually spoke back,” she said, “so I'd say he's doing better.”

Reddington smiled briefly and said, “I'm sure that's a great relief to the man. I can't imagine how much he must have missed having opposable thumbs and the ability to speak, just to name a few things. Nonetheless, Lizzie, I'm asking you now not to call him again.”

“He just saved our lives, you know,” she pointed out, irritated. “And he risked his own in the process.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “And I'm grateful to him that we're both still alive and relatively unscathed from that latest run-in with the Cabal. I'm also not implying that he doesn't have what he thinks are your best interests at heart. However, he still wants to take you in, and we both know that isn't going to work.”

“Okay, yes, that's true. So?” Liz did her best to hide her surprise that Red apparently now believed Ressler to be on their side, after a fashion. Or hers, anyway. “It's not like I'd tell him where we are.”

He nodded. “Of course you wouldn't. But you've already accidentally given him a clue to our location once before, and I'm sure we'd both rather not repeat that experience.”

Liz sighed and restrained herself from rolling her eyes. “Well, I wasn't planning to make this a regular thing. But I'm not going to promise never to call him again, either. I will promise to be more careful.”

Red looked like he was about to say something, but then he shrugged and seemed to change his mind. “All right. So be it. I admit I'm not sure whether it's better or worse for him if he never hears from you, at this point.”

“And what's that supposed to mean, exactly?” Liz asked, raising an eyebrow.

But he just smiled, a little sadly. “Maybe you can ask him yourself, the next time you two talk.”

Liz bit her lip. She thought back to the night Ressler had stayed in her room, and his behavior the following morning, along with Red's comments afterward.

Reddington left the room then, saying something about making a phone call. She made a vague appropriate response. Meanwhile, she was also thinking about how Ressler had tracked her for who knows how many miles, after undergoing what must have been a hellish first transformation experience at the hands of Cameron and the Cabal. (God, she hadn't had the chance to really talk to him about that – or about anything he'd gone through.) He had continued to travel with them then, even after she had failed to prevent Cameron's death. And he had risked so much, in that hospital in West Virginia, when he had charged in to stop Solomon.

Then she thought about how terrified she herself had been, when Solomon's henchman held the gun on Ressler, helpless on the floor. How awful it had been to realize, several days before, that the giant wolf in the yard of that farmhouse was her partner (ex-partner), made almost entirely unrecognizable. And that, of course, led right into how relieved she had been to learn that he wasn't gone after all. He was still himself, even as changed as he was in appearance.

She stared at the phone in her hand, then sighed and stood up. Of course it wasn't strange or surprising to say that he cared about her, and she cared about him. That had been true for a long time. But looking at things now, she knew it was more than that. It had been impossible that Ressler would ever try to kill her, as she had thought in panic when she left the Russian embassy weeks ago. It was more likely he would end up getting killed in the crossfire as he tried to find her again, before the Cabal could. He had been and would continue to be relentless in his pursuit of her – and she knew he was driven more than just by his strong desire to see justice done. She had a feeling he had recognized this for himself by now, as well, if he hadn't before. And of course Red knew. It was probably obvious. But it was possible that Ressler didn't know that she felt the same. Like Red had said, Liz wasn't sure whether it would be better or worse if she told him. She'd wait until their circumstances changed.

~~  
Ressler found himself alternately anxious and anticipating the day ahead – leaning more toward the former. It was true that he was very grateful to be back home, human, and getting back to work. Mr. Solomon was in FBI custody, and whether or not it could be proved that he was part of the Cabal, there was no way the man would be getting around the charges of assault, murder, interfering in a federal investigation, and attempted murder, among others. So that was good, as well. But at the same time, Ressler had no doubt Solomon would do his best to manipulate Samar during his interrogation, most likely through describing what he had done to Ressler. And Ressler was not looking forward to observing that, or having others observe it.

Still, he got to work promptly as usual, knee brace on, and went inside. Several people greeted him and welcomed him back, which was kind of nice. Only a few of them stared at him like they might have heard rumors of what Cameron did to him. Those stares, of course, were less nice.

It was also a little distracting that the lingering stronger sense of smell, which he'd thought he might have imagined last night at his apartment, was still there. He could tell from here that that the coffee in the coffeemaker was from the previous day – not to mention picking up more than he ever wanted to know about some of the people he walked past. His hearing was evidently also still more sensitive, based on the whispers he could distinguish. Neither sense was as strong as it had been while he was in wolf form, but it was still more than he was used to as a human. It had been too much to hope that all traces of his transformed self would be gone now, he reasoned. And it could be worse.

“Agent Ressler! Oh, man, it's good to see you,” said Aram, as soon as he entered the War Room. Before Ressler could stop him, the other agent pulled him into a hug.

Unable to hold back a smile, Ressler nonetheless pulled out of the hug fairly quickly. “Thanks, Aram. It's good to be back.”

Aram got serious quickly enough. “Uh, Agent Navabi is waiting outside the main interrogation room,” he told him. “She said she wants to talk to you before she gets started.”

Ressler nodded and headed in the direction of the interrogation room, doing his best to ignore the continued whispers of some of his colleagues. He supposed if he tried to listen, he might learn just how much all of them knew about what had happened to him while he was gone. Hell, he realized as he entered the hallway leading toward the interrogation room, it was possible that some of them knew more than he did; he wasn't even sure how many days he'd been gone. That was something he'd have to ask Samar or Aram about very soon.

“Ressler,” said Samar, as soon as she saw him. “I suppose you've already been welcomed back enough, but I'll add to the chorus anyway.”

“Thanks,” he said. He glanced inside the room. Solomon was there, his right arm in a sling. Other than that evidence of his injury, the man looked predictably unruffled. Ressler brought his gaze back to Samar. “Aram said you wanted to talk to me first?”

“I just wanted to double check that this guy wasn't going to spring something on me that I could have known about in advance,” she said. “Which is to say, have you thought of anything else from your time in captivity that he might throw at me?”

Ressler scratched the back of his neck. “Uh, well, I already told you the biggest things,” he said. “I guess I could specify that he had Cameron fit me with both a tracking collar and a subdermal tracking device.”

“And you removed both of them?” Samar's gaze flickered to his shoulders.

“That's right.”

“All right. That might be useful. We'll see how this goes.” She nodded to him, and then went into the room.

Solomon's gaze went to her as soon as she opened the door, but he didn't speak until she sat down and said, “Matias Solomon. You have quite an interesting rap sheet, leading up to yesterday.”

“Agent Samar Navabi,” he returned, with a small smile. “So do you, if memory serves. From Iran to Mossad to the FBI. Not a path very many people have ever taken before.”

She didn't respond to that. “We already have more than enough to charge you with murder, attempted murder, assault of a federal agent, interfering with a federal investigation, and a number of other charges, just from the attack on the hospital yesterday. We'll also be charging you with kidnapping a federal agent.”

“Oh, you mean Donald?” Solomon's smile widened. “Technically true, I suppose, although it would be, shall we say, _interesting_ to convince a jury of that charge, as well as the assault of a federal agent, since the agent in question wasn't even human at the time. Or maybe you and Donald are fine with his unique condition being made public? Perhaps he could even demonstrate for the jury.”

“Agent Ressler is perfectly able to testify now, regardless of his condition at the time of the kidnapping,” Samar replied.

“Yes, but if it were to come out that he was, or believes he was, a giant hybrid animal at the time,” Solomon said, “I would think the jury members might have questions about his mental status and therefore his reliability as a witness.”

Ressler clenched his fists. The man was right, most likely. And he knew it.

“Whether or not that's true, that doesn't alter the remainder of the charges against you,” Samar said after a moment, with only the slightest hint of frustration. “First and foremost, the four dead FBI agents outside that hospital room? All of their deaths will be on you.”

At that, Solomon stopped smiling. “In that case, if it's such a sure thing, what are you in here talking to me for, Agent Navabi?”

“Because I want to know what your interest is in Raymond Reddington and Elizabeth Keen,” she said, folding her hands in front of her on the table. “Why you've sought them out repeatedly.”

“And if I were to tell you?”

Samar leaned forward a bit. “Then I might be able to help you out with those murder charges.”

Solomon's response to this was outright laughter. “I see,” he said, once he had finished.

“So that isn't something you're interested in?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Agent Navabi,” said Solomon, “I'm guessing you already know something, or think you know something, about my interest in those two fugitives you just mentioned. If that's the case, then you ought to also know that my being here is only a temporary setback.” He gestured to his sling with his other hand and looked at her wryly. “This, perhaps, moreso than the jail time, so thank you for that.”

Samar continued to try to ask him further questions, with threats and promises mixed in, but Solomon didn't budge. Ressler sighed. Obviously the man was certain he wouldn't be serving time for any of his crimes. And if he was that certain, then that meant there were more highly-placed Cabal members in the Bureau, or in the court system, than they knew about. Which was not too surprising if he were honest with himself.

As Samar was standing up to leave, stymied for the moment at least, Solomon stopped her. “Oh, I do have one more thing to say, if you don't mind waiting another moment.”

“What's that?” Samar stood by her chair.

“Since I assume you've managed to lose your former colleague Elizabeth Keen again,” he said, “might I suggest calling upon Donald's expertise? He followed his nose right to her once before. I bet it wouldn't be hard for him to do it again. But you might have to keep him on a short leash if you want to keep up with him. He's not a very obedient animal, sad to say.” As he finished speaking, he had turned toward the window, giving a mock sigh in Ressler's direction.

Samar, to Ressler's relief, didn't reply. She just turned and left. Ressler, meanwhile, was taking deep, steadying breaths as he stared at the man. Thankfully, he only felt the vaguest hints of a threatening change. That was the last thing he wanted right now.

He turned away from Solomon as Samar joined him outside the room. “You okay?” she asked.

He nodded, not really meeting her eyes. “Yeah. I'm fine. I guess it's not too much of a surprise that he didn't bite, huh?”

“No, not really,” she agreed. “But we'll keep working on him.”

After this, Ressler had his debriefing session, which was about as pleasant as he thought it was going to be. He readily agreed with the agent's statement that he would be required to see the Bureau therapist before he was cleared for fieldwork again – and the requirement that Dr. Maynard clear him, as well. There was no way in hell he was going to risk going out in the field before he was sure he had every aspect of this thing under control. If he tried to cut corners, it would only end up getting Liz killed, or captured by the Cabal.

~  
As it turned out, being forced to work in close contact with the man Ressler knew was the Director of the Cabal was infuriating enough that it became the first thing to seriously threaten his equilibrium since Solomon. In fact, Ressler had to make as polite of an apology/excuse as possible, after the man showed up and requested a tour. He then fled to the bathroom.

Once he was in a stall with the door latched, Ressler leaned against the wall and tried to regulate his breathing. The heat under his skin was still there, but not getting stronger at least. He wasn't due for his next checkup and treatment with Dr. Maynard for another week. Still, the doc had promised that he'd make time for Ressler if he ever needed it, no matter when.

Hand shaking, Ressler scrolled through his contacts and called Maynard. “Hi. It's Donald Ressler. Uh, can I come by? Right now?”

The doctor sounded worried. “Sure, come on down, Agent Ressler,” he said. “Are you all right?”

“Sort of,” he replied. He clenched his jaw and breathed deeply for a few seconds. First, there had been those terrible few minutes where he'd thought an assassin had actually succeeded in killing Liz. And now this... “I'll be there in ten minutes.”

After Dr. Maynard agreed, Ressler hung up and spent another thirty seconds calming himself down. He already knew this whole transformation thing was tied to strong emotional response – mostly anger. This was more confirmation. But it wasn't like he was the Hulk or anything, either. He could and did get angry without changing his shape. Maybe the doctor would be able to help refine his knowledge of the trigger.

Ressler stepped out of the restroom and seconds later was confronted by Reven Wright. “Agent Ressler,” she said, looking at him sharply but with concern, “are you all right?”

Ressler forced himself to meet her eyes without hesitation. She knew about what had happened to him – she had been informed by necessity – and she had still signed off on his return to work once he had gotten a clean bill of health from both Dr. Maynard and the Bureau psychiatrist. He couldn't let her down. He couldn't afford to give her any reasons to remove him from his position, especially with the Director breathing down his neck. “Yes, ma'am,” he said. “However, I'd like to check in with Dr. Maynard now, if that's all right.”

“Certainly,” she said. “I hope to see you back here as usual tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, ma'am,” he repeated with a nod.

He was mostly calm by the time he made it to Dr. Maynard's facility. Still, he was glad the staff knew him well enough by now that there were no delays letting him in. And Maynard ushered him over to a chair in a curtained-off 'room' right away. “So, uh, what brings you in a week early?”

Ressler cleared his throat. “I almost transformed, about fifteen minutes ago.”

Dr. Maynard raised his eyebrows. “Oh. Well, in that case – that is, if you don't mind...”

He leaned back, and with a sardonic smile said, “No, go right ahead.”

“Great.”

The next several minutes were taken up with a flurry of tests and readings: temperature, blood tests, heart rate, even a cheek swab for some reason. Then, while these things were being processed, Dr. Maynard had time to actually talk with his patient. “So. You said you _almost_ transformed. Do you have any idea of what triggered that change this time?”

“That's something I definitely wanted to discuss with you,” Ressler said. “I mean, I know it's something to do with strong emotion, but … I had a terrible shock earlier today, what I thought was terrible news, and I still didn't feel anywhere close to transforming. It was only when...” Ressler paused, trying to figure out how to be even sort of diplomatic here. “It was only when I was suddenly forced to be in close contact with someone who I really don't like that this happened.”

Dr. Maynard was quiet for a few minutes. Then he said, “Well, obviously I can't be sure, since observing and running tests on you mid-change isn't feasible. But I'd guess the trigger is related to the adrenaline release that comes with a strong emotion, like anger. Maybe there's something unique about your body's response to anger as opposed to other emotions.”

“I guess I can buy that,” Ressler said. The profile Liz had once given him of himself very early on in their acquaintance came to mind all of a sudden, and he swallowed back a painful mixture of amusement and longing. If either of them had known then what they knew now...

The doctor, seeing that his patient was finished with that topic, went on to inform him that the levels of foreign DNA detectable in his blood and even his saliva had increased slightly since his first treatment, but that was to be expected. “Your own DNA and your immune system are still doing a pretty darn good job holding it off,” he told Ressler. “If you want, though, we can go ahead and do another gene therapy treatment now instead of when we had the next appointment scheduled.”

He thought about it for a moment. “Yeah, let's go ahead.”

Several hours later, once the IV was done being administered, Ressler thanked Maynard and got ready to leave. He was calmer about the task force being made to work with the Director now – and not only just because of the passage of time, either. He knew what they would have to do. Maybe this could even be beneficial: they could keep a close eye on the man, and wait for him to slip up in some way. Just as long as they didn't slip up first.

~  
Unfortunately for his desire to maintain his equilibrium, Ressler discovered that there was one person who seemed to be guaranteed to make him even angrier than the Director: Tom Keen. When Ressler first saw the man inside Cooper's house, it was all he could do to restrain himself to some furious comments. But when Tom followed him out of the house and grabbed him, that was the last straw. On top of the continuing frustrations of 'cooperating with' the Director, Samar nearly being killed, and now Harold Cooper deciding to _work with_ Tom Keen after he had applauded Ressler's decision not to, he could not take Keen's smug insistence that he was the one who really knew how to help Liz. Ressler turned around and punched the lying, cheating bastard in the face. He would have been very ready to continue the fight if he hadn't felt the telltale heat building under his skin, spreading much more rapidly than it had the last time.

Gasping, Ressler shoved Tom away and backed up until his back was against the side of his car. Then he sank down, taking in deep, ragged breaths. Tom was advancing on him, but Ressler couldn't worry about that. Not when he could feel fur under his shirt, threatening to spread to cover more of him.

Just as Tom had reached him and pulled him up by his shirt collar, Ressler glimpsed Cooper storming out of the house. If he said anything while he pulled the two younger men apart, Ressler didn't catch it. He was still too busy fighting to regain control. But at least he could stay upright as he did so.

“Agent Ressler!” Cooper's voice was sharp. Almost worried. Like maybe he had been trying to get his attention for several seconds now.

Ressler managed to meet his gaze. He was starting to feel a little less on the edge of transformation. “Yeah?”

“Are you all right? You look like you might fall over any second.”

Tom, who was also breathing heavily, scoffed and chose this moment to speak up. “He shouldn't have started something he couldn't finish.”

Cooper turned away to say something reproachful to Tom, but once again Ressler didn't hear it. Tom was still looking at him, with that same scornful, smug, unrepentant expression. Ressler was filled with an even stronger desire to wipe that look off his face. And there was an easy way to do that. It was a lot harder to keep in mind the reasons _not_ to transform.

There was the sound of cloth tearing. He was growing bigger. Ressler glanced down at his destroyed clothing, loosening his tie while he still had hands instead of paws, and then looked back up at the two men in front of him. They were both watching him change with nearly identical expressions of shock and alarm. As he fell down onto all fours, Cooper stepped back. “My God.”

Ressler shook himself free of his shredded clothes, growled, and, before the others could react any further, lunged forward. In the next second, he had knocked Tom to the ground. His claws were out, pressing on the man's throat. It gave him no small amount of satisfaction to see how terrified Tom was.

It would have been easy – far too easy – for Ressler to let his rage and his instincts work together to end the life of this man who had caused Liz so much grief. Tom certainly couldn't stop him.

“Don,” said Cooper's voice from behind him, just as Ressler lowered his face so he could snarl right into Tom's petrified face, “I don't know what the hell is going on right now, but if you're still in there – if there's anything left of the man I've worked with for the past three years – I'm asking you not to do this.” His voice was urgent, and pained.

Ressler looked up then, and saw that he had knocked Tom into the Coopers' flower bed, taking out some kind of lawn ornament in the process. And then he glanced around the neighborhood. It was only sheer luck – and the placement of his SUV – that was keeping anyone else from seeing this. He thought about what he had been about to do, and swallowed. How was this that much different from the action that had led to Liz running in the first place? Sure, Tom wasn't a respected figure like the Attorney General … but it would still be cold-blooded murder.

“Don. Are you hearing me?”

Slowly, Ressler sheathed his claws and stepped off the man. Tom sat up, putting a hand to the little cuts on his throat that were bleeding just slightly. Looking between Cooper and the wolf that was Ressler, he shook his head. “This-- this is insane! This a damn freak show!”

“Why don't you go back inside for a moment?” said Cooper. There was a definite edge to his voice. “See to the reason you're here.”

“Fine,” said Tom, after a moment. “But _that thing_ better stay outside. Or--”

“Or you'll what, exactly?” Cooper cut him off.

Tom gulped and scoffed, then went back into the house, Cooper turned to Ressler. “Don, are you still able to understand me?”

Ressler sighed and nodded. This all felt a little too familiar. Now that the adrenaline and anger were fading, he couldn't deny that allowing the transformation to proceed had not been a good choice.

“Well, that's a relief at least,” muttered Cooper. He was staring at Ressler now, with a mixture of amazement and concern. “Is this what Dr. Cameron did to you, then? I never got many details.”

Nodding again, Ressler sat down. This could be really bad. There was no guarantee that he'd be able to change back – especially now that the primary source of his fury had left the vicinity.

“Can you change back? I mean, I assume you must have made the transition back at least once before.” At Ressler's hesitant nod, Cooper exhaled and glanced around. “All right. Let me get you a blanket or something, since your clothes look pretty effectively ruined. Wait here. I think Charlene has had enough shocks today already.”

He turned away and went back inside the house before Ressler could think of an easy way to communicate to him that it might not be that simple. Whining softly, Ressler crouched against the side of his car and waited. He guessed he'd better try, anyway. Otherwise, Cooper would have to drive him to see Dr. Maynard.

Cooper emerged from the house a few seconds later, carrying a folded fleece blanket. When he saw how Ressler was crouched, he raised his eyebrows. But then he looked thoughtful. “I suppose you'd rather have some privacy for this, wouldn't you?”

Ears back, Ressler nodded once more. It was going to be embarrassing, either way it turned out.

“Then I'll go in and open the garage door for you.”

Ressler stayed where he was until the man had gone back inside and opened the garage door. As he hurried across the yard and into the garage, he heard a gasp and a cry of alarm from the house across the street. Cringing, he tried to get out of sight as soon as possible – though he knew the damage was probably already done.

Cooper, if he had heard, ignored the problem for now. He pressed the button to close the door again as soon as Ressler was inside. He was still holding the blanket under one arm, Ressler saw. Clearing his throat, he said, “All right. Uh, so would you like me to just … spread this over you, then?”

Nodding, Ressler stood still while his former boss did as he had said. If he could have, he would have been blushing. This was already as embarrassing as Ressler had pictured. And if this worked – if he did succeed in transforming back – it was only going to get more awkward. But he didn't have a choice. He just had to hope that Tom would stay out of the picture. He didn't want to think about what would happen if the man decided to keep meddling.

“I'll, ah, step out to the hallway for a few minutes,” Cooper suggested, after a pause. “You can let me know when you're … finished.”

Once the door was shut behind Cooper, Ressler took a deep breath. Unfortunately that wasn't calming at all, because it brought the scent of blood and some kind of cleaning fluid to his nose. He didn't recognize whose blood it was, but he did smell Tom and Cooper, as well, and someone he guessed to be Charlene.

Ressler shook his head. Even with this troubling trace evidence, he didn't think he was going to be able to make himself as furious as he had been when Liz's smug, abusive bastard of an ex had provoked him. So this transformation was not going to be easy. On the other hand, it had seemed like some part of the change to his wolf form this last time had been by his will, not just because of his anger. He had fought off the change the first time. It was only when he decided to go ahead that the transformation had really proceeded.

He had to give it a shot. Closing his eyes, Ressler tried something a little different: this time, instead of focusing on the goal of making it back to his human form, he concentrated on seeing if he could bring on the sensation of heat under his skin, the signal that the change was beginning. For a moment, nothing happened. Ressler growled and tried again. This time, he felt it begin, but then it started to fade. So he concentrated even harder, not letting the spreading heat vanish.

And to his shock, it seemed to be working. He was transforming. As his fur disappeared and he shrank back down to his normal size, Ressler maintained his focus – until he was on his hands and knees on the garage floor, fully human. With a sigh of relief, he wrapped the blanket around himself at the waist and stood up.

Just as he was crossing the room to knock on the inner door, he heard a knock from the other side. “Ressler? Are you decent?”

“As decent as I can be, given the situation,” Ressler replied, clearing his throat. He stepped back a few paces to allow the other man room.

The door opened. Cooper was smiling. “That's good to hear – and see,” he said. Then he held out a stack of folded clothes. “I figured you might want to borrow some clothes to get you home. I know we're not exactly the same size, but it's got to be better than a blanket.”

“Thank you,” Ressler said, taking them. He looked away, then made himself meet the man's eyes again. “And, uh, sorry about your garden. Also I think at least one of your neighbors saw me while I was-- transformed.”

“Don't worry about the neighbor. I'll handle that. As for the garden,” Cooper looked amused as he went on, “I'll send you the bill.”

Ressler managed a smile. “Fair enough.”

“I'll let you get dressed,” said Cooper, after a short pause. “But after that I'd like to--”

The bitterness and betrayal that Ressler had felt upon seeing Tom Keen inside Cooper's house came back to choke him now, and he interrupted. “Thanks. I don't want to take up any more of your time.”

“Don,” Cooper began, looking as frustrated and ashamed as he had when Ressler had first seen Tom, “all I'm asking for is for you to give--”

“Don't,” said Ressler. He swallowed and took a breath. “I can't deal with this. Not after the day I've had.”

“I have Karakurt tied up in my kitchen,” said Cooper, loudly, over Ressler's further attempts to tell him to stop talking. “Reddington has already told me not to turn him over to the Bureau – but I had called you first. It's your decision, Don. But it needs to be quick.”

So this was Tom's contribution. Ressler rubbed a hand over his face. Very, very grudgingly, he could see why Cooper had done this. But to work with Tom... He shook his head. “All right. Fine. Let me get dressed, and get my phone, and I'll call this in.”

Cooper, with a sigh and a faint smile, said, “Thank you, Don. I'll go get your phone from the yard – along with whatever else of yours there that's worth saving.”

He was half dressed, getting ready to put on the shirt Cooper had brought him, when he thought he heard something from outside. From around back. Then there was a frantic whispered conversation from inside, of which all he could distinguish were Tom's voice, an unfamiliar male voice, and someone who had to be Charlene. Then the front door closed, and Charlene called out in a low, panicked voice for her husband.

Ressler felt his heart start to pound. His gun. He didn't have his gun. It was outside on the lawn – or Cooper had just brought it inside.

A second later, the inside door to the garage opened, and Tom stared in at him. “We're about to be under attack,” he hissed. “So unless you want your old boss and his wife to end up dead, not to mention the guy who'll exonerate Liz, get out here.” For half a second, something like a grin flickered across his face. “Fangs and claws might not be such a bad idea, since we're short on weapons.”

The man didn't give Ressler a chance to respond before he withdrew. Ressler clenched his jaw and got undressed again. Tom was right, damn him. This was the best way for him to aid in protecting Karakurt right now. He wondered who it was who was coming for the Russian – a Cabal team, most likely. In which case, it was unfortunately also likely that Solomon, who had mysteriously and predictably disappeared from police custody on the way to prison, would be among them or at least calling the shots.

It was his easiest transition yet back to wolf form – but the change was still under his control. Ressler didn't have time to consider that, though. He heard and smelled the attackers now. Tom had left the door open a crack, and he pushed his way into the hallway. Cocking an ear, Ressler then positioned himself just around the corner from the main room. He knew the others were scattered in strategic positions throughout the house. For himself, he needed to be on the frontline, however, since he currently lacked any distance weapons.

The first attacker came into view a second later. Before he had time to do more than widen his eyes in shock at the sight of the wolf, Ressler sprang and ripped out his throat. The assailant's scream of agony ended abruptly and he fell to the floor.

Others were coming in now, from all sides. Ressler ducked as a shot whistled past his head. Tom came into view from further inside, returning fire at whoever had just shot at Ressler.

The conflict didn't end up lasting very long, for all that; there must not have been that many assailants, Ressler figured. He had taken down one more, getting a slight graze on his right foreleg for his trouble. Tom had taken out a few, and Cooper at least one.

“There will be others coming,” Tom said, as soon as the shooting stopped. Distant sirens could also be heard. “We need to get him the hell out of here.” He gestured toward the kitchen.

“Harold, what do we--” Charlene's voice died away in a gasp as she came down the stairs. “My God. What the hell is that thing, and what is it doing in our house?!”

Ressler put his ears back but stayed where he was. He could guess he looked even more alarming than usual right now, what with the blood on his mouth and the injury on his leg.

“That,” Cooper started, but Tom cut him off.

“ _That_ is too long of a story right now, I'm guessing,” he said. “We have to get out of here, now!”

Cooper sighed and looked at Ressler. “He's right – and I don't think we can wait for you to change back this time, or take you with us.”

Ressler nodded. He refused to be dead weight again, and besides, he needed to update the rest of the task force on what was going on. He thought of an image of a cell phone, hoping Cooper would get it.

The man raised his eyebrows, but to his credit it only took him a few seconds. “Uh, I'll call you as soon as I can, if I can. Be careful.”

Ressler nodded again.

Charlene still looked utterly bewildered, but she followed her husband, Tom, and a tied-up man who looked much the worse for wear, who also shot Ressler a confused and alarmed look, as they left. As soon as the door shut behind them, Ressler hurried back to the garage. Then he took a few seconds to clean the blood off his face and leg, while he was still equipped to do so most simply.

His transformation back to his human self went smoothly. However, when Ressler stood up to get dressed, he nearly fell back to the ground that same instant. Groaning, Ressler leaned against the wall while the wave of dizziness passed. His fingers and toes felt numb, and his head ached.

The unwelcome sensations faded enough that Ressler was able to put on the clothes Cooper had lent him. Though his arm was still bleeding, he managed to avoid getting blood on the shirt while putting it on. But then when he swallowed, the taste of blood (his own and other people's) in his mouth was enough to change the lingering dizziness into nausea, and he threw up on the garage floor.

This, oddly enough, didn't bring him much relief. Whatever this was, it didn't seem to want to just go away. But that didn't change the fact that Ressler had to get out of here. He was in no shape to stand up to any other Cabal forces, and he needed to... He blinked, as he staggered out of the garage. What was it he needed to do?

His gaze fell on the dead bodies on the floor in the front room of the house. That was part of the reason he needed to get out, he knew. Then he saw his phone, gun, wallet, badge, and keys sitting on the little table by the front door. Good. Yes. He needed those.

Stepping over the dead bodies, Ressler collected his things and made his way out to his car. The headache was still there, and he was still having trouble walking in a straight line. Something was seriously wrong, he realized. And it shouldn't have taken him this long to realize that.

Frowning, Ressler got into the car and put the key in the ignition. But no, he couldn't drive like this. It was like he was drunk, but that wasn't possible. But he couldn't just sit here, either. He had to...

That was it. Ressler pulled out his phone and struggled to scroll through his contacts until he found who he was looking for. Then while it rang, he set it on speaker and managed to put it in the nearest cupholder, after a few tries.

Samar answered after a number of rings. “Ressler. Where are you?”

It took him a moment to find the words. “Cooper's house.”

Her voice quality changed. “Cooper's house? Ressler, are you okay? You don't sound well.”

“There was an attack,” he told her. His voice did sound weird. Slurred. “The Cabal. Because...” He paused. There was a reason. Ah, there it was. “Because of Karakurt.”

“Karakurt? I see. You're injured?” There were some other noises over the line after this question.

“No.” Ressler blinked, and looked at the shallow graze on his arm. It wasn't bleeding much by now. “Well, a little. But … but that's not what's wrong. I dunno what's wrong.”

Again, he heard Samar speaking to someone else, though he couldn't make out the words. Then she said, “Stay where you are, Ressler. I'm dispatching local PD and an ambulance right now.”

“Not going anywhere,” he mumbled. It was getting harder to stay awake. But he needed to warn her, about something else. “Samar.”

“Yes, Ressler?”

“They could come back. Can't fight them.” He blinked repeatedly, but the blurriness of his vision didn't clear. He slumped back in his seat. “Can't even see my gun very well.”

“We're on our way,” she said, now sounding alarmed. “Try to stay awake if you can, Ressler. Please.” There was a pause. “Ressler!”

His eyes had already fallen shut. Ressler pried them open and let out a breath. “Mm. I'll try.”

 

~


	8. Chapter 8

~~

Despite his best efforts, Ressler was only barely able to notice when the sounds of sirens got louder and various vehicles pulled up around his. He tried his hardest to open his eyes, once the meaning of the noises penetrated his fogged brain, and eventually succeeded. But movement beyond that was not going to happen, he was pretty sure.

The car door opened. It was an EMT, Ressler thought, although his outline was blurred. “Sir,” the man asked, “can you hear me?”

He tried to reply, but only succeeded in making a pathetic little sound. Apparently that was good enough, because the man went on, “Okay, good. We're going to check your vitals now, all right?”

Ressler nodded faintly. That was enough to make the world spin around him, so he shut his eyes. A second later, he flinched a little as he felt fingers at the pulse point on his neck, and on his wrist.

“Sir, have you consumed or been given any drugs or alcohol in the past few hours?”

He opened his eyes again. “No,” he thought he'd actually said.

“Are you diabetic?”

“No,” he repeated.

“Okay. Well, just in case, I'm going to ask you to drink this juice, all right? It's possible we're dealing with a blood sugar issue. We'll see to the injury on your arm after that.”

If he could have, Ressler would have looked skeptical. He'd never had anything like this severe of a reaction before, even after he'd skipped meals or forgotten to eat until late. But then again, he did feel hungry and thirsty. It wouldn't hurt.

Embarrassingly enough, he couldn't even raise his arms to hold the juice box himself, when the EMT brought it to him. But he was able to drink it through the straw.

“Good,” said the EMT, once he had finished. “Now, I'm going to clean and bandage your arm.”

Ressler kept his eyes open during this process. He was starting to feel better – much better, in fact. The blurriness had cleared, and he felt much more like he could see and hear everything around him.

The EMT looked up. “You look better.”

“Yeah, I feel better,” he said, clearing his throat. He turned to look out at Cooper's house. Agents and uniformed cops were swarming the place. “I still don't really understand what happened, though. I've never had blood sugar issues before.”

“These things can come on without you noticing,” the man said, not all that comfortingly. But then he smiled and added, “We'll get you checked out at a hospital, and they'll be able to tell you exactly what's wrong.”

Ressler wondered if that was true, or if this might somehow have something to do with his 'condition'. If that was the case, a regular doctor would not be the best idea.

At that moment, Samar came into view. She was decked out in a bulletproof vest, and looked concerned until she saw Ressler's face. “Ressler. How are you feeling?”

“Better now,” he told her. He tried to sit up, and winced. The headache hadn't totally gone away yet, evidently.

“Take it easy, sir,” the EMT cautioned. “You're going to want to sit still for at least another ten minutes.”

“Yeah, I'm getting that,” he muttered. Then he met Samar's gaze. “No sign of anyone else in the house?”

“No one living at all,” she said. “Three dead from gunshot wounds, and two with their throats torn out.” She spoke to the EMT. “If Agent Ressler isn't at immediate risk of any crisis, may I speak with him for a moment?”

“Yes, ma'am,” the man said. “Just make sure he doesn't try to move for about ten minutes, at least, as I said.”

“I will.” Once the man was gone, she came closer. “I overheard a little. Some kind of blood sugar episode?”

“Yeah, apparently,” Ressler confirmed. “I don't really understand, but I'm guessing it's something a normal doctor might not be able to explain.”

“Ah,” she said. Then she smiled. “Well, I'm glad you're all right.”

“Thanks. Me, too.” Suddenly, he realized how tired she must be. “I'm sorry to pull you into another case, after the day you've had.”

Samar snorted softly. “Thank you. It's not like it was really your fault, but I still appreciate the sentiment. But speaking of the case, what does all of this have to do with Karakurt?”

“Oh, right, I guess I didn't do a good job of explaining when I called.” Ressler could barely remember what he had managed to stammer out in that call, but he knew it hadn't been very coherent. So he sighed, sat up a little bit very carefully, and gave Samar a concise version of the events preceding the attack and the attack itself.

Samar looked impressed and amazed by the end of his summary. “Wow. And you haven't gotten any calls from Cooper, any updates?”

Ressler reached for his phone to check. The slight movement only increased his headache a bit. “Nope. Nothing yet.”

“Maybe Aram can track his phone.” She raised an eyebrow. “And I'll just say right now, if at any point you happen to run into Tom Keen again...”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, rolling his eyes and trying not to flush too deeply. “I'll keep the violence to a minimum.”

“That's what I like to hear,” she said with a wry smile. “Although it sounds like you might have Tom to thank at least partially for your being able to control your transformation.”

Groaning, Ressler shut his eyes. “I am _not_ going to thank him for that.” Or anything else, he thought but didn't say.

A few minutes later, during which Ressler found that he was feeling even better, the EMT from before returned and checked him over one more time. The man was pleased with how his patient had recovered, but still recommended a hospital visit.

“I'll see my Bureau doctor,” Ressler told the guy. “He, uh, he's more familiar with my recent medical history.”

“All right,” said the EMT with a faint frown. “As long as you're not planning to drive yourself.”

“I'll take him,” said Samar. To Ressler, she added, “One of the agents here can bring your car back to your apartment.”

Ressler thanked the EMT, then gathered his things out of his car to go with Samar. He was able to stand up just fine (although he wished he had some shoes), and with Samar's help made it to her car without falling over. She handed him a water bottle once he sat down, which he accepted gratefully.

“So are you thinking this blood sugar episode is related to having to transform so many times in a short period of time?” she asked, as they drove out of Cooper's neighborhood.

“I can't think of anything else that makes sense at all,” Ressler replied. “I mean, I don't think I'm suddenly becoming diabetic – and thinking about it, it must take a hell of a lot of energy for me to-- change that much.”

She nodded. “I would think so.”

Ressler called Dr. Maynard on the way, informing him very briefly of what had happened. The doc was very willing for his patient to come in right then, and was excited to hear of the developments in Ressler's control of the transformation process. “We'll do the usual tests, and then maybe when you're not immediately post-hypoglycemic episode, you could demonstrate for us.”

“Uh huh.” Ressler sighed inwardly. He had known this was coming.

“No rush, though. Whenever you're ready.” Maynard was so quick to reassure that Ressler had to laugh as he ended the call.

“Not looking forward to being stared at and examined some more?” asked Samar quietly.

“Can't say I am,” Ressler said. “But I'll live.”

~  
Ressler's checkup at Dr. Maynard's facility began pleasantly enough. First, the doctor listened to his description of his symptoms prior to the arrival of the ambulance, and agreed that it sounded like a blood sugar event. So he offered Ressler a microwave pasta dinner (“Sorry, that's all we have on hand!”) to help replenish his energy, which Ressler accepted even though it wasn't quite five yet. (Samar declined the doctor's offer of one for her as well, instead telling Ressler to call him when he was done. She wanted to get back to work and trace Cooper's phone.) Then, once he had eaten, and after they had checked his blood glucose level and found it back within the normal range, the usual other tests and bloodwork were done. That was when the visit took a turn for the worse.

Dr. Maynard came back over to where Ressler was sitting in his curtained-off 'room', with a perplexed frown on his face. He was staring at a piece of paper in his hands. “This... These results don't make sense.”

“How's that?” Ressler asked with a frown of his own. This didn't sound promising.

“I'm looking at the-- at your most recent DNA analysis,” Maynard said. “We checked the proportion of foreign DNA versus your own, like usual.”

Ressler swallowed. “And?” Was he about to go back to having to fight to hold onto his human shape again? It didn't feel like that at all, but...

“The thing is,” the man said, looking up from the paper, “this doesn't show any traces of foreign DNA. At all.”

“What?!” Ressler stared. That was not what he had been expecting. “But I can't just-- There's no way I'm cured all of a sudden.”

Maynard shook his head. “I wouldn't think so. I mean, unless you can't transform anymore?”

Ressler licked his lips and concentrated on beginning the change. The familiar heat began building under his skin right away, until he stopped and reversed it. “No. It's still there.”

The doctor raised his eyebrows and said, “In that case, I really don't--” Then he stopped and let out a breath, taking another look at the test results. “Unless... Oh, man. Wow. Yeah, that could be it.”

Trying not to lose patience, Ressler cleared his throat. “What's going on, Doc?”

Perhaps he noticed that Ressler was getting anxious, because the doctor blinked and said, “Sorry. Uh, well, there's good news and bad news, it looks like. The good news is, I'm almost one hundred percent certain you won't have to worry about the hybrid animal DNA ever taking over or trying to take over your body again.”

He sighed and closed his eyes for a second. “Okay, that is good news. What's the bad?”

“From what I can gather,” Maynard said, “and don't ask me to explain how, because I don't think I could explain, it looks like your body has somehow found a way to incorporate the foreign DNA so completely that it's no longer distinguishable from yours at all, except when you look extremely closely. It's-- it's effectively become part of you.”

Ressler felt his jaw drop. Once again, that was totally not what he had expected to hear.

“All that to say,” the doctor went on, eyes full of sympathy, “the idea of finding a cure just got exponentially more complicated. We would be trying to remove something that your body is now treating like part of its own normal genetic code.”

He reminded himself to breathe, even though it almost hurt to do so. It was like he had been punched in the gut. Apparently, he'd been hanging more hope on the idea of an eventual cure than he'd thought, based on how that chance being taken away was affecting him. An image of Liz's face flashed through his mind just then – her smile, the natural way he had always seen her interact with kids – and he struggled to maintain his composure.

“On the other hand,” Maynard said, “this has to be at least one of the influencing factors behind your increased ability to control the change. So that's … sort of a benefit?”

“I guess,” Ressler muttered, after a moment. He knew he would trade the certainty or even likelihood of a cure in the future for this measure of control he had developed.

Samar came to pick him up fifteen minutes later. Ressler headed off her questions about his health by saying he was fine, and then quickly asking her what was going on with tracking Cooper's phone. Samar gave him a look that clearly communicated that she knew what he was doing. But she answered anyway. “We tracked his phone to a rest stop just outside of town,” she told him. “It was in the lost and found. They said someone had found it on the counter in the men's restroom.”

Ressler frowned. “What about Charlene's cell?”

“Still at their house.” Samar glanced at him, then back at the road. “We're keeping the house under surveillance, just in case the Cabal decides to come back.”

“Good.” Those were all the things that he would have done, if he'd been in a position to be able to lead at this point. “I take it we're also looking out for Tom's car, or any other sign of them?”

“We are.” Samar paused a moment, and then said, “Ressler, are you going to tell me what's wrong? Or at very least, tell me if the doctor told you something that means you can't keep working?”

“No, I really am okay,” he said. At her skeptical look, he amended, “Physically, at least. But the doctor told me this thing is pretty much impossible to cure at this point. And that's all I want to say about it right now, okay?”

“Okay,” said Samar. She looked compassionate. “I'm sorry.”

“Thanks.”

~  
The next day, Ressler had cause to be very glad he was feeling totally back to normal (physically at any rate – emotionally was something he'd have to keep working on). As he got in to work, the place was already buzzing.

“What's going on?” he asked Aram, walking up to the man's desk right away.

“Agent Ressler!” Aram said. He stood up. “It looks like you're feeling better. That's great.”

“Yeah,” he said shortly. “What's going on?”

“Right, uh, well, first of all we got a really strange call this morning, just about ten minutes ago,” Aram said. “We think it might have been from Direct-- uh, Agent Cooper.”

Ressler stared. “Is there a recording?”

“Yeah, everything that comes in to this site is automatically recorded. I've got it here.” Aram opened a sound file on his computer, and then clicked the play button.

There were five or so seconds of silence first, then a rustling sound and what could very well be Harold Cooper's voice, saying, “This is--” before it was cut off with a louder rustling sound and another voice raised in protest, whose words were inaudible.

Ressler shook his head. If it was Cooper, something had interrupted him, prevented him from finishing the call. That was not good news. He tried not to read into the possibility that Cooper had decided not to call him personally. They didn't even know who this was, for sure. “Any chance you can clean that up?”

“I've been working on it. I'll let you know if I get anything useful from it,” said Aram. “Meanwhile, the other piece of news is another possible sighting of Agent Keen.”

As usual, he tried not to get his hopes up, or start worrying too much. It was just a sighting. “How credible? Where was it?”

“West Virginia, outside a gas station,” said the other agent. “We're trying to get more information from the tipster now, but it at least doesn't seem like a crank caller.”

West Virginia. They had been there already, not too long ago. Ressler swallowed and pushed aside those memories. “Okay. Make sure her photo and Reddington's go out to local law enforcement and media as soon as we have anything more concrete.”

He had turned to go when he was stopped by Aram's voice. “Agent Ressler?”

“Yeah?” When he turned back, Aram was right next to him.

“If you have a minute, I want to talk to you.”

“Right now?” Aram nodded. “Fine. My office.”

As they walked up the stairs, Ressler looked around the War Room. “Do you have any idea where Agent Navabi is?”

“No. Well, not for sure,” Aram said. “I mean, she had a pretty terrible day yesterday.”

“True.” Still, Ressler would have at least expected a call to let him know she was taking a day off. Once they got inside his office, Ressler shut the door. “All right. What's the problem, Aram?”

“I just... I need some reassurance that Agent Keen is going to be safe if-- when we find her.” The man stood up straight and looked Ressler in the eyes.

Ressler raised his eyebrows. “Aram, do you know something more than what you told me?”

“How are you planning to protect her?” he said firmly.

Quickly, Ressler ran down the list of precautions he had in place and would put into place immediately upon bringing Liz into custody. “Satisfied?”

Aram nodded, and let out a breath. “Agent Navabi got a call from her this morning. She needed help. She said Reddington was missing.”

“What?!”

“She – Samar called me earlier this morning,” Aram said. “Liz called her, asked her to track Reddington's burner, and...”

“And what?” Ressler prompted.

“And asked her not to tell you,” he finished, dropping his gaze to the floor.

Ressler clenched his fists. This wasn't the time to think about the implications of that. “But Samar told you. Fine. Where is Reddington's phone?”

Still with some reluctance, Aram gave him the location: a salvage yard in West Virginia, near the gas station where Liz had been seen. It also came out that Samar had asked Aram not to pass along this location right away – she had asked for a “head start.”

“And you just gave it to her?” It probably wasn't fair to be irritated at that, especially considering how Aram obviously felt about Samar. But still.

“She told me she owed it to Reddington to help him, after Reddington helped her find her brother,” Aram said, to his credit only slightly defensive.

Ressler sighed. “How long of a head start did you give her?”

Aram looked at his watch and said, “About half an hour now.”

Things moved quickly after that. The photos of the fugitives were distributed to West Virginia media outlets and law enforcement, and Ressler got in his SUV to get there himself. He had called Samar, but unsurprisingly, she hadn't answered. He left her a message asking (politely, he thought) for an explanation, and then focused on the job at hand.

In some ways, that day was like he was back in his wolf form, single-mindedly focused on hunting Liz and knowing he was getting closer. But this time he still had all of his human faculties and memories. And this time, when he caught up to her, he would have to take her in. Instead of her taking him in and looking after him. This was a certainty, a guarantee, and it was one he wasn't sure he could really prepare himself for.

It was getting close to nightfall when Ressler and his team arrived at the clearing in the woods where they had tracked the man wearing Reddington's coat. Ressler didn't see Reddington anywhere – but there was Liz, standing with Dembe. She stared around at the approaching FBI and police in growing fear.

She started to put her hands up. All of them – including the band of robbers the local sheriff had told Ressler about – were pretty well surrounded. Ressler breathed a tiny sigh of relief. Maybe this didn't have to get out of hand. He didn't like to think of the phrase “come quietly” in connection with his partner, but compared to the alternative... As he took out his weapon to help secure the suspects, there was a shout from Dembe – and then Liz was running.

 _No! Damn it!_ Ressler took off after her a second later. If anyone else joined in the chase, he and Liz left them behind quickly.

She was running as fast as she could, he saw. But the terrain wasn't clear enough for either of them to run flat out. Still, he was closing the distance between them. “Keen!” he called out, vaguely surprised that he had enough extra breath to do so. “Keen, stop!”

She didn't stop, and didn't turn – not until she stumbled on a tree root, just barely catching herself against the tree's trunk. Then she took a few more steps before turning to face him. Panting, she stood and waited.

Ressler slowed his own pace, and hesitated for a moment once he was in range. Then he raised his weapon. “Don't move.”

“I'm not going anywhere,” she said. She didn't raise her hands, but she did gesture at his gun. “You don't need that.”

His own hands were shaking, just the smallest bit. He redoubled his efforts to stop them. “I really do.” His voice was hoarse, and not just with the effort of the chase.

At that, she swallowed and dropped her gaze from his. He came closer. Now he could see and hear how she was still breathing quickly – and he could see how terrified she was. Her fear had a scent, as well, which was disturbing to realize. Something in his heart twisted painfully. This was even worse than he had imagined it might be. This was as close as he had been to her, while he was in human form, in far too many weeks. And she was scared. Trapped.

All of a sudden she looked up at him, her eyes wide, then made as if to dart away between the two trees behind her. “Don't! Don't do this,” he said, reaching out to grab her arm with his left hand. Pleading with her, even as he pointed his gun at her. “Just stop.”

She didn't try to twist free, but she did give him a look of her own, half-pleading, half-challenging. “You wouldn't,” she said, nodding at the gun.

Of course she was correct – but if he admitted that, from there it would be all too easy to let her go. Again. And he wasn't going to let that happen again. “You know I don't want to,” he said instead, trying to keep his voice level. He wasn't sure how well he succeeded. “But I would if-- if you made it so I had to.”

A second later, most of the tension left her body, and her panic seemed to be replaced by resignation as she nodded once.

“Elizabeth Keen,” Ressler said then, readying his handcuffs, “you're under arrest.” He had envisioned this moment for a long time, and he knew he could keep her safe now, so much safer than she had been, on the run with Reddington. And yet no weight was lifted from him as he cuffed her and started to lead her away.

She remained silent the entire way back to the clearing. Ressler saw to his relief that all of the rest of the suspects – including Dembe – were in custody as well. There was still no sign of Reddington, though. That was worrisome.

He wasn't going to chance anything happening to Liz on the way back to the Post Office. At his orders, she was first fitted with body armor (the necessity of which made his jaw hurt). Then when they got on the road, his SUV, in which he would be transporting her personally, was preceded and followed by police cruisers. That was the plan for the whole trip. He relayed the news back to the Post Office that he was on the way. There had still been no update from Samar or Cooper.

It was only when they had left the forest clearing behind that Liz spoke at all. “Where are you taking me?”

“Back to the Post Office.” That, he had no problem telling her. “I'm going to make sure you get a fair hearing, and I'll keep you there while that gets set up.”

Liz stared at him incredulously before scoffing and looking away, out the passenger side window.

“What?”

“We both know I'll never make it to any kind of hearing alive,” she said, without turning back to look at him. Her tone was matter-of-fact.

Ressler had to take several seconds before he replied. This was really what she thought – of him, and of the justice system. At one time, she had sworn to uphold that very system. “So you're just assuming I can't or won't prevent that from happening?” he asked at last, gripping the steering wheel so hard his hands started to ache.

She sighed and leaned back. “I know you'll try.”

That wasn't much better. Even with all that had already happened between them since she'd run, her lack of confidence in him still hurt. “I'm going to do more than _try_ , Liz,” he told her. “I'm going to get you through this, get your name cleared from inside the system. Just like I said.”

“How do you know who you can trust inside the system, Ressler?” she asked. “You can't know. Not with how little we still know of the extent of the Cabal's control of the DOJ, not to mention higher up than that.”

“I trust Reven Wright,” he replied. “With her and a few contacts that she trusts, I know we can get this done.”

Liz shook her head and looked back out the window.

A few minutes of silence passed. Then Ressler cleared his throat. “If I asked, would you tell me where Reddington is?”

She gave him a slight wry smile in acknowledgment of the situation. Then the smile faded. “I don't know where he is. That's the truth. I was trying to … find him, when you found me.”

He decided he believed her. He was pretty sure he knew her well enough to know when she was lying or hiding the truth – and also, he couldn't think of any reason why Reddington would have allowed Liz and Dembe to be captured with such comparative ease if he'd had anything to say about it. So he must not have been involved in whatever that meet-up in the woods had been. “Is he all right?”

“As far as I know,” she replied quietly.

“Well,” he said after a moment, “good.” That meant that, even if something did go wrong in this plan of his, Ressler would still have an ally willing to do whatever he could to keep Liz safe. And Red knew - he had given the man his word - that he himself would do his best to protect Liz. He hoped that would be enough for now. Then once all of this was over, he and Liz could begin the work of regaining each other's trust. It wasn't going to be easy, but he very much hoped it would be something they both still wanted.

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay in getting this chapter up! Thanks to all who have continued to read and leave feedback.
> 
> I think that'll do it for this section of this story. However, I already have quite a significant amount written for a sequel, so look for that in coming days!
> 
> Thanks to Mack for her beta, as usual.


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